


One Day Like This

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Series: One Day Like This [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Related, Dry Humping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I'm just so tired, so tired of doing this on my own and -" he says through these gut wrenching sobs, and Christ, Harry's arms around him are the only thing holding him up. "I just don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><i>And there it is. The last of his selfish confessions. The one that he's kept buried even deeper than the rest because he had a life before this. He had a career and he had friends and yeah, it might have been a year since his divorce, but he had love, too. He can't even imagine that now. Can't think about leaving these children who are his responsibility to go and find someone just for him. The other half to make him whole. He can't even dream about it because it's not </i>just<i> him he has to concern himself about now. Anyone he brings into his life, becomes their lives. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Who would want an instant family of three with a neurotic father figure anyhow?</i></p><p> </p><p> <br/>OR: the one where Liam takes on the biggest responsibility of his life, and a fruit eating best mate might just be the best addition to this ride. Future!fic, as canon as that can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsyt31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyt31/gifts).



> i told erin i wanted to write angst for a bit while i tried sorting out the next chapter of This Photograph is Proof in my head (threesome positions are HARD yo) and then THIS happened. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE. (this is also Moo's fault.)
> 
> Beta'd by the amazing **Su** who never complains about how I break her heart x

**ONE DAY LIKE THIS**

When he gets the call, he's sitting in the plane and the voiceover is instructing them to turn all electrical devices off. The woman in the seat beside him gives him a dirty look and he apologises but she just raises a brow, and fantastic - he still has another seven or more hours of her face to contend with. At least he's got his iPad and this new season of some reality TV show to watch, something with animals that his niece put on there, promising that he'd love it.

He goes to apologise again, but his phone is still ringing and when he see's that it's his mum, he very nearly shuts it off - he's said his goodbyes for the past three days he's been at home. Something, though, something makes him press answer and the bothered frown on his face falls, as his stomach does, with each and every one of her words.

He gets up and ignores the the squawking of the man whose seat he's knocked into. He struggles to get his luggage from the overhead locker, and it's about that time when the flight attendant, who recognised his name and face with a wink when he boarded, tries to get him to sit down.

"I can't, you've got to let me off. I need to get off the plane," he says, as calm and collected as he can be while his insides feel anything but.

She puts her hand on his arm and he shakes her off. "The captain has already put on the seat belt sign, sir. We're about to taxi onto the runway."

"I don't want to be a pain, but I have to get off. I won't take long and I don't care about getting my luggage off, this bag is fine. I just - I can't be on here anymore."

"Sir, if you'll just sit down—"

"No!" he nearly shouts, having talked and nearly pushed her to the section of the plane where the door is, right through all of first class. "My sister . . . there's been an accident and I need to get home."

She changes her mood then, the frown of frustration that mars her perfectly made-up face changing to something like concern. "I'm sure they'll be fine, sir. If you'll just sit down you can ring them—"

"I can't. I can't call her anymore. I can't call her or her husband or my dad. They're all gone. Gone." 

They make an exception. The door opens and Liam gets off the plane, ignoring the few paps at the front doors as he hails a cab and makes his way to the hospital, where three months ago he'd visited his nephew moments after he was born.

This time he'll be visiting the morgue.

 

: : March : :

 

The day he buries Ruth and her husband the sun shines and it's one of the most beautiful balmy March days on record in Wolverhampton. His mum is there, all in black, tears streaming down her face, silent and untouched with Nicola at her arm. She wanted his dad to come, but the stroke he had has left him numb on his left side. His language and motor skills are barely there. Liam and the doctors don't think they'll come back at all. 

Nicola's husband is on her other side. Their two children look bored and Liam wishes he'd spent more time with them, wishes he knew not just their names but their personalities as well. It’s been rough the past few years. He hasn't felt welcome in Nicola's home and he's missed so much of the twins’ growing up.

Then there are Ruth and Jeremy's three. Fiona, the eldest at twelve, stands beside him. She's got her arms wrapped tight around herself and she's still refusing to be touched. She hasn't cried a single tear - that Liam is aware of - since finding out about her parents, and he's worried about her the most. Her blonde hair lies dirty and unwashed and limp around her face, apart from this bright blue streak that he knows she fought with Ruth about before . . . before. 

He's got Sarah clamped to his leg, her little seven-year-old fingers tight on his black trousers. With the way she’s burrowed into his side he can see naught but the braids Fiona put into her hair this morning. There's a wet patch above his knee from where - the opposite to her sister - she hasn't stopped crying. She’s been inconsolable since she came into his room this morning at half three, unable to sleep alone anymore. A quiet snuffle at his neck makes Liam look down to where little Beau, all of three and a bit months old, lies quiet on his chest, his soft brown curls ruffling in the slight breeze as he sleeps through the whole thing.

Liam buzzes his lips in a quick press to Beau's brow. His nephew looks the spitting image of Liam when he was a baby. It's always been a running joke that Jeremy's genes never got much of a look-in with their kids. Apart from Fiona; she's got her father's eyes, his sharp chin, and his stature, if her rate of growth is anything to go by. Sarah is a perfect blend of them both, dark hair like Jeremy's side of the family, her bluey-green eyes a throwback from the Payne side. 

Liam breathes in and out. Rubs one hand over Sarah's shoulder and steps a little closer to Fiona's side. She might not want him holding her, but he doesn't want her to feel like she's alone. Not now. Not at the worst possible moment in her life.

He lets the tears roll down his face as his sister's coffin enters the earth. Lets himself, for one tiny, short second, miss the sister he's been the most fond of. The one who was his most fervent supporter. The one who let him kip on her sofa when his life went to shit . . . so many, many times. The one who made him godfather of all her children, who cried with him the day they had to put Brit down, and a week later when Loki just passed away in the night. The vet who'd looked after her since she was a puppy said it might have been from a broken heart.

He's going to miss Ruth _so much_. 

Then there are these three. These three children who haven't left his side since he arrived back in their home. These beautiful babies he's loved since the moment he got a phone call from Ruth, blubbering at three months pregnant to a boy she'd barely begun dating. They'd done well, though, had this near perfect love between them that spawned a wedding when Ruth was five months along, and Liam became an uncle at twenty-three. He'd loved Fiona, loved her with his whole heart, and found space again when Sarah came along - and once more, these few short months ago, when Beau rounded out their perfect family. 

Even though he's been living in New York for the past four years, he's always made time to come home and visit. Always made sure to keep tabs on what they've been up to, Skyping with all of them every Sunday, pretending through the wonders of technology that he's sharing in their family roast. This year he's chatted a lot more to Fiona; she has her own phone now, sends him snap chats and messages that are filled with her near-teenage thoughts. They've always had a special bond, forged when she was born and he spent nearly the first year of her life kipping in the spare room, getting up for her feeds and changes nearly as often as her parents had done. That had been a particularly bad year for him, and Fiona had become a much needed light when all Liam could see was dark. 

People start leaving and offering empty words and Liam takes them all, nods his head and is thankful his arms are full of Beau so he doesn't have to shake anyone's hands. He stays until Fiona takes in this sharp breath and turns. He takes Sarah's hand and follows them out and down to the car that will take them back to the only home they've ever known.

 

: : : :

Harry calls when Liam's on his way back from the solicitors. Liam's a little shocked, a little unsure about how he feels. Most of all he's angry. He's fucking pissed off, and it probably shows in how short he is when he answers the phone.

"Jesus, Li. What's got you so mardy?" Harry says with a laugh, and Liam does something he hasn't done since the day he buried his sister.

He cries.

And not just cries, no. This is "thank god he's not started the car yet, tears streaming down his face, howling into the quiet space of the car, snot oozing from his nose" sobbing. He can barely hear Harry over these awful sounds ripping from his throat. He does pick up on Harry asking where he is, and he manages to give him the address before Harry's gone, leaving Liam in the car in a huge bloody car park crying on his own.

Not for long.

Liam doesn't exactly know _how_ long it is before he hears a knock at his window. He looks up and blinks to find the face of none other than bloody Nick Grimshaw at his window and there's no way. There's no _way_ that Harry's done this.

"Hiya, love. Want to open the door?" 

This just brings on a fresh set of tears, but he gets the door open and then Nicholas bloody Grimshaw is gently pulling him out and into his arms, and fuck. Liam's never cried so much in his life and he must be getting various liquids all over Nick's nice jacket. Nick, who he hasn't seen in at least five years or more, and before that maybe a nod in passing when they'd been at one of Harry's parties when he still lived in London more than LA. Nick's making these clucking sounds and rubbing at Liam's back until finally, finally, Liam manages to get himself under control. 

"Harry called you," he says, not really a question but more of a statement because he knows Harry did. 

Nick just continues rubbing at Liam's back. "Popstar's a little worried about you, all this wibbly stuff going on here and he's miles away, as usual, when it's all going on."

Liam sniffles and smiles a little. He's heard from Harry a few times in the last few weeks. He wanted to come over for the funerals, but it all happened fast and Liam didn’t call any of them. It was merely through the media catching wind of "Ex-Popstar Liam Payne Buries Sister and Brother-In-Law After Horrific Accident Caused By Payne Senior's Stroke At The Wheel" that any of his old mates knew about the current situation in Liam's life at all. Niall and his mum flew over from Ireland, Niall taking a break from filming The Voice. Zayn sent flowers from the South of France where Perrie was touring while Zayn kept their two amused. Harry had tried to get over but he was on tour with his band, stuck somewhere on a bus in the middle of America, with a sold-out small arena tour to continue. He'd not heard anything from Louis . . . but then, he hadn't expected to. They'd not talked in far too long.

"How 'bout you jump in the other side and I'll have a go at driving this bloody tank of yours? We're not far from this pub that does a great beans on toast. My mum always made me beans on toast when I was poorly. It'll fix you right up." 

Liam can hear the smile in Nick’s voice as he pulls back, takes a wobbly breath in, and wipes at his cheeks with the back of his hand. When he looks at Nick through gritty, wet eyes, Nick's got his nose scrunched up and apologies start falling from Liam's lips when he sees the mess he's made of Nick's front. Nick shrugs it off, says something about not liking that shirt anyhow, even if it was his favourite vintage Britney Spears print.

Nick babbles away as he drives them out of the car park and into the street. It's raining and it suits Liam's mood. They twist and turn down several streets until Nick stops and tells Liam that they're here. It's a hole-in-the-wall type of place Nick's found for them, all dark wood and sticky floors and a few old men having a pint in the corner. The telly's set to the dog races and the fellow behind the bar actually has a rag out and is cleaning a pint glass. It's a bit cliche, and Liam's hesitance to walk into the place must show, but Nick just clucks his tongue and with a "Come along, duck," he drags Liam in. He orders up toast and beans for both of them and settles them into a booth with a pint of something that looks like beer but tastes slightly different. 

Nick sips at his own and comments on it being a nice drop and it's so laddy, so out of place for the Nick that Liam had once known, that he laughs. Nick grins a little lopsided, pushes up at his quiff that's flopped down, and pats Liam's hand.

"There you go, pet. Let this swill they call a bloody bitter get you telling Uncle Nick all about your woes." He looks so sincere that Liam doesn't hesitate to speak once he's had another sip of his pint.

"I was at the solicitor’s today. They've wanted me to come down for a few days but there's been so much going on I haven't had the chance. It's all bloody Ruth's fault," he says, his voice cracking over a name he isn't sure he'll ever find it easy to say again. "She's gone and bloody made me guardian of the kids. Three kids - what was she even _thinking_?" 

He shakes his head and twists his pint glass in a circle on the table. He can't look up at Nick, is fairly certain that shock will be written on his face much like it was on Liam’s a few hours before.

"She chose you? Like, what about your mum or your sister? Your Nicola's got children, doesn't she?" Nick says after clearing his throat.

Liam nods and his chest feels so heavy. His shoulders are weighed down with the decision he has to make, and as much as he knows he _should_ make the right one, there's another selfish, idiotic alternative that he can't give up on. Not yet. 

"Mum's getting on now, and with Dad and his stroke she just wouldn't have the time. Nicola isn't an option. She and Ruth weren't even talking at the end, haven't been since before Fiona was born. Nicola didn't agree with Ruth keeping her and voiced her opinion loudly when Ruth got married before her. Nicola's got her own family, anyhow. I don't know how she'd cope with taking on three more."

Nick nods and his eyes are wide. It's probably a lot for Liam to dump on him like this. Nick has always been Harry's mate more than anything else to the rest of the lads, and here's Liam laying out his life and problems to the bloody BBC Radio Breakfast Show Host. Not that Nick would do anything other than listen to this. He's a top bloke, that one.

"What about their da's side? Didn't Jeremy have any family?"

Liam laughs. "If only he did. Bloody sob story, our Jeremy. His mother gave him up when he was three, OD’d when he was five, and he's never known anything about his father. No, there've always been us Paynes for Jeremy. It was the reason he took on our name and Ruth got to keep hers." He smiles, an ache in his chest for the brother-in-law Liam had come to love. Jeremy had worshiped the ground Ruth walked upon and _loved_ his children with all his heart, put them all on pedestals. He’d treated Liam like a mate, never hesitating to take him down a notch when he felt Liam needed it. Took him under his wing and listened when Liam needed someone else to help sort out the tangle that was his heart.

He’s not only lost a sister in that accident, he’s lost a proper brother as well. 

Their meal arrives and it leaves them silent for a bit. Liam tucks into the first thing he's had all day. He didn't have breakfast before he left the children with his mother. She took a few hours away from the hospital and his dad so he could get all this legal stuff sorted. She'll probably be right annoyed if he gets home and tells her he still doesn't know. 

"What are you going to do?" Nick asks when Liam's finishing soaking up the sauce with the last piece of toast. 

Liam honestly doesn't know. He tried thinking about going to Nicola, going against Ruth and Jeremy's wishes and begging her to take the kids on. It made him feel ill, but when he thought about the other option they were offering, sending the kids into care? That didn't sit right at all.

"What I have to. What Ruth and Jeremy obviously wanted me to," he says, each word cementing what he'd basically decided the moment they told him back in the office. "I'll sell my place in the States and come home. They need me."

 

: : June : :

 

Three months in, Liam's ready to rescind his thoughts about care not being an option. Beau's getting two of his molars and he won't stop chewing on anything and everything. He sleeps for a maximum of three hours before he's howling the house down with a fever or just because his mouth hurts. Liam's tried every trick in all the bloody baby books Ruth has in the house to help Beau. He's Googled, he's joined online mothers’ groups under pseudonyms and had to endure talk of cracked nipples and arguments on "you know this wouldn't have happened if you breast-fed longer." It's so hard not to type an all-caps response: "WELL, I'M SURE MY SISTER WOULD HAVE, BUT SHE'S DEAD SO IT'S NOT REALLY AN OPTION."

Then there's Sarah. Sarah who, all of seven, nearly eight years old, has taken to being extremely light-fingered. It doesn't matter if they're in a shop or at someone’s house - she even stole the pen right off the Head Teacher's table when Liam was called in to discuss her behaviour. If she sees something shiny, it’s more than likely to end up in her pocket. He cleaned her room earlier today and found a bloody box filled with balls which he just _knows_ belong to Nick's dog, and he's sure the purple one was from that one time they'd taken out Aimee's pup as well. He's not looking forward to the eventual screaming match he'll have with her about these finds when she gets in later.

Liam's in the kitchen, up to his elbows in bubbles because the bloody dishwasher's on the fritz again, when he hears the front door slam and heavy steps on the stairs echo through the house. He waits for Beau to start up, but for once all is silent from his nephew’s room. He breathes a shallow sigh of relief.

"Hello, Uncle Li," he says to himself. "How was your day? Do you need any help with dinner?"

He scrubs at the pan he burned the bloody cake in earlier. He'll have to beg Fiona to watch Beau for a few minutes while he ducks down to Tesco's and hopes they actually have something with green icing on it. She couldn't just want chocolate, that'd be too easy. He's lucky Sarah's at her music lesson this afternoon, otherwise he'd have to take all three of them along and Liam's fairly certain they've got a photo up in their security office of Sarah after the _last_ time they'd visited. Maybe one of Liam, too, just for being an unwilling accomplice to her pilfering three Cadbury milk bars down her top. 

"Why, hello to you to, beloved niece. What's that? You'll finish doing these dishes while I put my feet up for a moment? That is just too much to ask of you, but thank you for offering." He scrubs harder, sending water flying, but it's fine. He's going to have to mop the floor once he's got all of them to bed anyway; Beau's surely going to empty his dinner on the floor, if not aim spoonfuls at the walls and every other surface possible. 

"Are you talking to yourself again, _Dad_?" Fiona asks. She opens the fridge door wide and he knows she's just staring into it. Does it all the bloody time.

"Can you decide on what you want before you open the door, Fi?" he sighs, finally getting the burnt gunge off the bottom of the pan. "And please stop calling me that. You already have a father."

She laughs, but it's not light and airy like a twelve-going-on-thirty girl's laugh should be. It's this dark thing that Liam's grown to endure; anything other than the first month where she just ignored him and didn't speak at all. "Yeah, and he's dead and you're here, so I guess we're both stuck with things we don't want." She slams the door of the fridge, sending the thing bouncing against the wall, and stomps back out of the kitchen before Liam can get out a word in reply.

He doesn't know if he should be worried or not that hearing her say that about her parents doesn't hurt his heart anymore as much as it used to. She says it so often now. Then again, he's got other worries at the forefront at the moment, like how Beau's only been asleep for an hour and he took about that long just to settle. Which is why Liam burned the cake in the first place.

He turns and calls out, "Fiona Elizabeth Payne, your brother is—" a high-pitched whine echoes from up the stairs— "sleeping," Liam finishes softly. 

Death metal kicks in from Fiona's room, competing with Beau's screams, and of course that’s when the front doorbell goes, which means Sarah is back early. Liam strips off the Marigolds covering his hands and heads to answer it. It's only as he gets a grip on the handle to let her in that he catches sight of himself in the mirror above the little table where his sister used to keep these decorative twine balls. They're long gone now, replaced by broken toys and pocket fluff, half-eaten fruit rollups, and an assortment of things Liam doesn't like to think about. 

God, he looks tired. There are dark bags under his eyes and there are certainly more lines marring his forehead than there were a few months ago. He's got flour in his hair; his curls are starting to come in as the style cut he had in New York over four months ago grows out. His reading glasses - because he needs those now - are caught up in the fray; butter is smeared over one of the lenses. He hasn't shaved today - or maybe since yesterday - and he's still got Ruth's apron on. In short, he's a mess, but he just doesn't have it in him to care. Jennifer, who takes Sarah to her lessons and drops her home, has probably seen Liam look worse. He knows for a fact he answered this same door a few weeks ago covered head to toe in sick because Beau's bottle hadn't sat right in his tummy.

He opens the door anyway, excuses about cake and baking and it being harder than he thought falling from his lips. He only stops when instead of Sarah's smiling face at the expected height he's met with two bags of luggage. As he raises his eyes, it’s skinny black jeans and a One Direction merch shirt from their first world tour. He starts laughing before he even gets to Harry's face. There's only one person he knows who would wear a shirt like that as both an ironic and non-ironic statement. 

And he looks good, all shiny dark curls floating in a tangled mess about his face. He's got that perfect tan that says he doesn't live in England anymore and the crow’s feet around his eyes that scream too much time in the sun. Or lots of laughter - it could be either in Harry's case.

"Mate," Harry says, dropping the handles of his bags, his grin wide and dimples deep. "You didn't have to go and get all dressed up for me. I know I'm a star and all, but this is too much!"

Liam doesn't hesitate to reach out and grab Harry in close for a hug, apron and foul food mess covering his body or not. Harry pats his back and Liam feels like all the tension he didn't even know he was carrying in his back just disappears. 

"Missed you, Li," Harry whispers close to Liam's ear.

Liam lets out a long breath, shaking his head. "Missed you more."

They stay like that for a while, just holding on, and it's like all the years of missed phone calls and slowly dwindling offers to visit or catch up just fade away between them. It was strange that Harry was the last one to really die out from being part of Liam's social life. It wasn't an easy decision, ending the band that had brought them all they could possibly dream of and more. At first it was Zayn wanting to spend more time at home. Little Mix had faded out after a few years but Perrie's solo career had kicked off. They were due to have their first child and Zayn wanted to be a part of that. Didn't want to miss out on anything that his firstborn would do. 

So they slowed it down; it was their seventh album anyway and they could afford to take a little more time on it. Their tastes had all changed and it was getting harder to pin down just how they wanted the band to sound. Then Niall was offered Bressie's job on The Voice when Bressie moved on to greener pastures, and that had to be taken into consideration so touring was put on hold. Sophia was constantly at Liam to sort out what he wanted for his life, because she wasn't going to wait around forever - and then Ruth got pregnant. That shouldn't have been the linchpin to it all, but it was. It was Liam suggesting they finish up the band. Harry spent a year writing songs with the side band he sort of put together and Liam ended up mostly lying about on Ruth's couch once Fiona arrived. 

He hadn't been able to make a decision on what he wanted to do with his life so Sophia stepped out, Louis stopped talking to everyone, and Liam just wanted to hide for a while. They'd all come to Fiona's christening, all got bladdered one last time before they skipped off to their new lives. Liam was left literally holding the baby when Ruth and Jeremy finally took their weekend away in Blackpool for their honeymoon, refusing to let Liam pay for anything else. 

It was a year after that when he proposed to Sophia. Liam was still big enough news that they received an obscene amount for the photographs from their destination wedding in Fiji. Liam had wanted to surf and they spent the next month doing nothing but play in the water or lie on the sand, Liam holding Sophia close at night and finally feeling content. The phone calls between his band of brothers and offers to catch up fell away as Harry's band’s fame grew and Niall was busy at home and Zayn and Perrie had bub number two on the way. Sophia had her career and Liam did bits and bobs here and there, still not quite certain what he wanted to do post-being-a-popstar. 

Then one year became two, and three, and it was a week before their fifth wedding anniversary when it all turned south. Sophia was in the kitchen, already dressed for work, makeup perfect, when Liam got back in from his morning jog. There was a stack of paperwork on the bench and Liam's heart sank. They were on their third cycle of IVF and Liam wasn't sure he could go through a fourth. It ripped at his soul a little every time the test came back negative. When no little eggs had taken, again and again. Liam wasn't sure how he was going to even broach the subject to Sophia of giving up on it, maybe thinking again about adoption, when she'd been dead against it at the start. 

It hadn't been for treatment, though. Irreconcilable differences, it said, when they'd asked for a reason why this marriage should be dissolved. 

He didn't argue with anything, just signed where he was supposed to. Initialled where they'd left a mark.

Five years of a marriage he thought he'd thrown himself into, gone with a flick of a pen and a moving truck. 

It's funny how if she had waited just five years more, they could have had the instant family they'd always dreamed of.

Ruth and Sophia had never gotten along all that well, though. Ruth hid it, but Liam knew and Sophia was more than honest when she wanted to be. Maybe it was better it had worked out the way it had.

"You going to let me in, mate? Like, I'm fine with standing here half on the street but I don't know if you know this, I'm kind of a big deal. Paps sort of follow me around a lot, so unless you want a bunch of screaming women here in the next ten minutes maybe we should head inside."

Liam slapped extra hard at Harry's back as he pulled away, a smile so wide on his face that it hurt. He grabbed one of Harry's bags and Harry the other and they'd _just_ stepped over the threshold when there was an almighty scream from out in the street.

"Told you, Li," Harry said with a smirk. Liam shook his head and started counting.

He got to three before Sarah attached herself to Harry's legs, her voice a blur of questions and squeals of excitement. Harry looked down, his green eyes wide as he took in the whirling dervish that was Liam's niece. 

"She might be a bit obsessed with your last album, mate. I don't think she believed me when I told her I had your number in my phone. You've possibly made me the best uncle in the world – the genuine Harry Styles here for her birthday," he chuckled, grabbing at the bag Harry had dropped and heading inside to a semi-silent house. 

Fiona's music was off and when he looked up the stairs she was at the top, Beau in her arms and what looked like a ring through her nose. 

"You're Uncle Harry's here," he said as he walked past, down the hall to the spare room at the back of the house. "And take that thing out of your nose, will you?"

"He's not my uncle, and you can't tell me what to do. You're not my dad!" 

The door slammed again and Beau's cries started up at the same time. Hopefully Fiona had remembered to put the gate on at the top of the stairs before dumping Beau on the floor. She probably would have; Fiona was many things but she loved her baby brother a lot. There was no way she'd leave him unsafe. Unattended, yes, but any chance of him getting hurt wouldn't happen on her watch.

The cries cease as Liam throws Harry's bags on the bed he used to sleep in once upon a time. It's a bit dusty with disuse, but Liam had had to take the master to be closer to the kids when he'd moved in. He'd sold Ruth and Jeremy's bed and bought a new one for himself. Sleeping where they'd slept and created life was just a little _too_ much for Liam to handle. He starts shovelling the pile of dirty clothes he must have left in here into his arms. When he turns to leave, thinking he'll ask Harry if he needs anything washed before he puts a load in, it’s to find Harry with a smiling Beau in his arms. 

"Nick wasn't half right, mate," Harry says, bouncing Beau on his hip and letting him grab at Harry's long curls, keeping a tight grip with his little fist. It's got to hurt, but Harry is smiling down at Beau like it's the best thing to ever happen in the world. 

"Nick?" Liam asks, knowing full well he shouldn't have been as honest with Nick as he was the past Friday afternoon when he met up for the one piece of honest sanity he gets with Nick at brunch. It's a ritual they've kept up since Nick saved him outside the solicitor’s so many months before. His mum takes Beau for the afternoon and Nick and Liam have beans on toast and a few quiet pints and discuss goings-on in the world. Except last time - last time Liam had had a bloody week of it and he hadn't hesitated to share more than "fine, thanks, all good" like he normally would. 

He's going to kill Nick.

He's going to kill him and feed him to Puppy Two and then he's going to have to make it up to David, Nick's husband of three years, somehow. David likes red wine; surely a few crates or a week at a winery in Australia would be enough?

"He's a little worried about you and Li. I haven't heard from you in a month - I was a little worried, too."

Liam doesn't mean to take offence at this. He _knows_ he should have called. Harry's made an extra effort since Ruth died to be a part of Liam's life again. It's calls or bloody gift baskets of fruit, of all things. He even mentioned Fiona when his band were on Jimmy Fallon, which she found mortifying. Her reaction kept Liam going every morning when she'd throw the breakfast he made for her - the same one she'd loved that he cooked whenever he was home - in the bin.

"We're fi—"

"Don't tell me you're fine. You're a right mess. I bet you don't even have a cake for Sarah's birthday, do you?" Harry says, and Liam squirms under the look he's being given.

He knows Harry cares and he knows he means well, but fuck, it _burned_.

He can not be held responsible for the tears that prick at his eyes as he falls down on the bed, clothes in a heap on his lap.

"I tried. I bought that special baking sugar stuff like you used to and I even got a special tin and a recipe from my mum for the cakes she used to make us and - I _tried_ , Harry." 

Liam must look like shit or something because Harry just laughs, pops Beau on the bed beside Liam, and takes the washing from his arms. "I'm sure you did. You always try your hardest at everything, Liam. How about you let someone else try for a change? I've got three months before we start the next tour and honestly, I've got no place I'd rather be than helping you out. And you, my friend, definitely need a little helping out. And maybe a shower, seeing as this one stinks, so off you pop and get cleaned up and I'll see what I can do to make Sarah's birthday a bit special."

Liam stares as Harry walks away, only taking his eyes from the vacant doorway when Beau burbles away beside him. He looks down and these big brown eyes are looking straight back up at him, a toothy grin on Beau’s face as he claps his hands together. 

"You agreeing with Uncle Harry, too, then?" Liam asks, and Beau answers with a sound that does _not_ come from his mouth and has Liam's nose screwing up just as fast.

"Right. Bath." Liam picks Beau up under his arms, holding him out in front as he makes his way back to the front of the house. He can hear Harry in the kitchen, beaters already smashing something into a cake shape, Liam's sure, and Fiona's in there, too, by the sounds of it. Her tinkling laughter fills the spaces between the soft drawl of Harry's voice and the ongoing background chatter that Sarah always seems to provide.

It lifts his heart to hear his girls happy, but it tastes a little bitter on his tongue, knowing yet again he's not the one they're happy around. Not the Uncle Li that they would once flock to like they've done Harry, and he's only just walked in the door.

He changes Beau and manages to wrangle them both in and out of the shower without too much fuss. When he comes downstairs the kitchen is spotless, there's a grand smell coming from the oven, and Liam can't hear a sound. It's quiet as he makes Beau's bottle up for later. It's a little _too_ quiet. Liam takes Beau to the living room and sets him up on the floor with some of his favourite toys in the hope that one day soon Beau might actually do more than crawl, then goes off in search of the others. 

It's when he does a whole loop of the house and yard, twice, and finds no one that he starts to freak out. It's Harry and he trusts Harry but these are his _girls_ , and Harry didn't say where he was going or how long he'd be. It's enough to get Liam's blood boiling with annoyance on top of the fear of not knowing where they are. 

Fifteen minutes later, when the oven's turned itself off and Liam's taken theh cake out to cool, he hears a car out front. Then there are voices in the hall and the smell of burgers and hot chips fill the air when they all tumble into the kitchen. Sarah tugs at Liam's arm excitedly, talking twenty to the dozen about, "Ornanic foods, Uncle Li! Harry got a tofu burger and we've got chips that the lady let us watch her peel!" 

She looks so happy and Fiona is _smiling_ properly for once, and all the worry and the concern just fly out the door.

"Thank you," Liam mouths across the room, heavy with talk and laughter that he hasn't heard in months. 

Harry smiles in return, tipping his imaginary cap as he sits Sarah up on the bench to help decorate her cake and decide which candles she wants to put on.

 

: : July : :

 

Six weeks later Liam's beginning to think that Harry Styles is the complete opposite of a godsend.

He just seems to do everything _better_ than Liam has, or can.

He gets Beau eating food with chunks with an ease Liam never mastered. Beau even drinks out of a sippy cup at meal times. Liam actually has a lump on the side of his head that never quite went away from one of the earlier times Beau's aim was spot-on. 

Sarah hasn't stolen a thing since Harry came to stay. She's obsessed with learning guitar, which is ridiculous because Liam _knows_ how to but "Uncle Harry plays ekletic, Uncle Liam. It's way cool." 

Fiona. He's got Fiona wrapped around his finger too, somehow. She spends hours talking to him about art and things he's seen and pieces he owns. He takes her to a few shows in London and Liam lets her go because it's Harry and he'll look after her, and it's the way Fiona's face lights up when she gets to dress up. Harry has Lux pop over on Fi's birthday and she sorts out her hair and a little makeup, even finds her clothes. It's hard to believe that Harry can actually take Lux out for a drink now - not that he does that when he's got Fiona on his arm, his unofficial date at these things. Liam isn't sure how Ruth would feel about her thirteen-year-old being out on the odd school night, but Harry always has them both home before ten. There's been remarkably less interest of late from that Ronan kid up the road who Liam knows goes to the local secondary school.

Even his dad's face lights up when Liam and Harry bring the kids to Liam's parents’ every other weekend. It's the one thing that's kept his old man going, of that Liam's sure. He tries harder to speak, to move, when the three children are there. Even Liam's mum is enamoured of Harry, just like she was when they were young. They swap recipes and he bakes Liam's mum’s favourite cake and slice when they visit. Liam swears she thinks Harry's got a bloody halo hidden on him somewhere.

Everyone's in love with Harry, and although it shouldn't it hurts Liam that this is something else he's sort of failed on. He was doing okay before Harry came along. He went to playgroup twice a week with a few of the mums in the street who knew and loved Ruth and Beau. He had Fridays with Nick and he had the odd park date with Maz and Andy - both dads now. He was working on his relationship with Fi and Sarah - well . . . the stealing thing he tried to get a handle on. He was coping, is all, and now Harry's left him feeling like he was treading water and sinking fast, which isn't where Liam wanted to be at all. 

The thing is, he loves Harry being here. He loves that when he's tired Harry just takes control and moves everyone along. He loves that Harry backs him up when he gets into one of the many arguments with Fiona about what clothes she can wear or just how long she can stay out when she goes to Westfield with her friends. He loves hearing Harry sing Beau to sleep when Liam just _can not_ go up to him one more time. 

He loves having Harry here, but he's afraid of what it's going to be like when Harry's gone.

 

: : : :

 

It's another week on and the girls have already left for school when Liam finally reaches the end of his rope.

Liam's cleaning the benchtop within an inch of its life and Harry's spinning on the stool on the other side. He's irritatingly perfect with his sleep-mussed hair and - Liam doesn't know how many times he's got to remind Harry to put a bloody shirt on, there are teenage girls present - scratching at his bare stomach as he chows down on a banana. A bloody _banana_.

"Harry, that was the _last one_!" Liam says with a huff, slapping the dishcloth down on the bench. "What's Beau going to eat now?"

Harry just gives him a raised brow and bites off another chunk. "Beau hasn't eaten mashed banana in ages now, Liam. He much prefers his shredded wheat with sultanas . . . or at least before he pours half of it on the floor." He chuckles and Beau agrees - well something like it - as he pounds his little hands on the top of the bongo drums Harry bought him to help encourage Beau to stand. Why they're set up in the kitchen is beyond Liam, but this is generally where they spend most of their time when the older two are at school. Or when Harry is here, and not doing things like meetings with the label and catching up with a few of the lads from his band before they start rehearsals for the next tour. 

Liam doesn't like to think about when the tour will start. It's a little over a month away, but Liam's learned time is short when it comes to babies growing, school terms, and how long it is between haircuts.

"Probably whatever we do. He has for the past week or so, and he's slept through every night that he does. I think he's ready for more than you think he is, Liam. He's nearly one."

Liam scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest while Harry takes his bloody time finishing his banana. He has it aimed at Liam like he's making a point. 

"You could probably cut his bottles down, too. It's not like he needs them as much since he's drinking out of his cup all the time."

Liam feels something like annoyance and a little like anger burning in his gut. "And you would know this how?" 

Harry shrugs his shoulders and yawns, his torso lengthening as he stretches his stupidly long arms into the air. "I looked it up, talked to Marissa across the road. Her Elliot is the same age, did you know? Said you had a nice bum, too, by the way. You could be in." 

He winks at Liam and Liam feels his face flush because he's had dealings with Marissa before. She's a horrid flirt, and Liam's too nice to tell her to back off proper. He's managed to avoid anything that requires them to be alone and this sounds like Harry's been talking him up to her. That isn't what he wants at all. He doesn't _need_ someone to pimp him out. He doesn't need anyone at all.

"How long's it been for you, Li? How long’s it been since you let little Liam out to play?" Harry says, mostly to Beau because he's crouched down beside him now. Beau's torn between grabbing at Harry's hair like he's wont to do and still beating a _thumpathumpa_ pattern on his bongo. Harry's hair wins and Harry picks him up, sits him on his hip, and lets Beau alternate between putting handfuls of Harrys' curls in his mouth and tugging on them joyfully. He's babbling away, and again Liam wonders if he should be worried that Beau hasn't said any proper words yet.

"Maybe you should call Andy up. Isn't he always trying to get you to go out? Fiona's staying at Beth's place on Saturday and Sarah's got that sleepover at Hannah's for her birthday. I think I can handle Beau on my own for a few hours. Go out, have some fun. You never leave this house, Li. It's unhealthy."

He looks so serious and so concerned and Liam's this jumble of feelings because he can _never_ stay angry at Harry for long. And maybe Harry has a point. Maybe Liam does need to get away from being "Dad" for once and be one of the lads. With Andy and Maz being parents now, surely their version of partying will have calmed down some. It'd probably end up being snooker and a few pints down at their local. 

Liam could handle that. He could handle a bit of adult fun.

"Haz, Azzzz," Beau interrupts, tugging at Harry's hair to gain his attention. Harry smiles down at him once but then his head swings back to Liam and Liam just stares at Beau.

That was definitely Harry's name.

Harry's.

Beau's first proper word and it's not mum, or dad, or Liam - or even Fiona - which is surprising with how much Beau must hear that word.

No. It's bloody Harry. 

When Harry's eyes light up and he looks at Liam with his mouth dropped open in shock, it sort of cements everything in one go. He's on the phone to Andy and it's too easy to organise a lads’ night. Liam's going to go and he's going to enjoy every second of it. Even if he has to force himself to. 

 

: : : :

 

He does not have fun.

Not even a little bit.

Andy and Maz's idea of a lads’ night is something Liam thought they'd grown out of now that they were family men, fathers to three boys and two girls among them both. He expected a bite to eat at the local Chinese, a few pints at the pub, and some friendly games of snooker or even darts. He expected a bit of adult conversation, maybe a bit of an argument about football but this - this he did not expect.

"It's a bloody strip club, Andy!" Liam says again, not as quietly as he thought because the huge security guard out front gives him the eye.

"Yeah, mate, it is. Proper lads’ night out for us, yeah! Maybe we'll even pool our money and get you a lap dance or a private show, mate!" Andy gets an arm around Liam's shoulders and pulls him into a headlock.

"No, no, I'll be fine," he answers. The security guard finally waves them through after Maz sorts out paying for them to enter. It's just as dingy as he remembers. They'd come here when Liam was eighteen and actually _home_ and Liam had watched some bird give Andy a hand job right there in the booth where he was sucking down Jack Daniels and Coke like it was water. There's this ever-present smoke in the air - even though no one actually smokes inside - and the girls all look nearly the same as the last time. There are boobs everywhere and scantily clad women ducking around tables, leaving drinks and their smiles at everyone. 

It didn't really do much for Liam back then, and it doesn't reallydo that much for him now. They get settled into one of the booths - Liam thinks it might be the same one as the last time - and it's drinks ordered and a show to watch on the main stage. Three girls are straddling poles with nothing more than those pasty things on their nipples, tiny pieces of material covering their fronts. It's sexy and they're pretty, but . . . Liam just isn't all that turned on. As the drinks continue to fill the table and disappear down their throats, he still isn't getting anything from the women, and it makes him wonder what it means that he's hardly even got a semi while this woman is strutting her stuff.

There is one girl that catches his eye. She's got short, dark curls and her hips sway on slightly turned-in feet when she walks. Her eyes are big and blue but they look almost unnatural; maybe she's got those coloured contacts in. Liam remembers what a bitch they were to put in and take out from one Halloween party he'd been to at Louis' back when they were still mates. Back when Louis was his partner in crime before Louis got shirty with Liam agreeing about splitting the band, and before Louis walked away from everything. From all of them.

"Want us to buy her for you, then?" Maz says, nodding to the girl with the curls that Liam is still staring at. "Andy and I have enough to get you a private show; you must be bloody hard up with only your hand and Harry to look at!" 

Liam doesn't know what to say so he drinks up and Maz turns away, laughing at something Andy's said. 

He is, though. He is a little hard up. He can't even remember the last time he had sex, but he can remember the last time he was turned on. 

It was stupid really, stupid and weird and sort of bad because it wasn't even anything sexy that Harry had done. Liam had been out with Nick, having their usual catch-up. Liam had thought they would include Harry now he was in town, but they never did. He'd come home a few martinis in; it was Nick's decree that he'd make a cocktail man out of Liam yet, which meant every Friday was a new cocktail to be had and Liam coming home slightly hammered each and every time. He'd be right by the time the girls got home, though, a few cups of that awfully strong organic coffee that Harry brought into the house and it was as if he'd never even gone down to the pub with Nick at all. 

When he'd walked in the house this particular Friday it was silent. Nothing unusual since Harry's arrival, another one of those _things_ that dug a little under Liam's skin, made him bite his tongue on words that he knew he didn't really mean but wanted to say to Harry anyway. He'd wandered through the house, looking for signs of life, and it was only when he reached the yard that he found them. There, lying in the hammock Liam and Jeremy had put up when Ruth was pregnant with Sarah, Harry lay with a straw hat tipped over his eyes and wearing nothing but some ridiculously small red shorts. They reminded Liam of that summer in Australia and those fluro yellow abominations Harry called swimming trunks. His feet were crossed at his ankles and it was hard to tell who was snoring more, Harry or Beau, who was curled up on Harry's chest with his thumb in his mouth, in matching red shorts pulled over his nappy. 

Something ached in his chest that day and Liam wasn't sure it was just for the pure and simple ease and trust he could see had built between Harry and Beau or if it was something more. Something a little like love.

He'd woken Harry up that day by pinching his nose. Harry'd flailed and Liam already had a hand on Beau, who just snuffled and slept on. 

"You idiot" is what he said when Harry called his name, his hat coming off and this look somewhere a cross between fond and annoyed marring his brow. 

"No, _you're_ the idiot," Harry had answered, pinching at Liam's bum when he finally got up and out and they'd headed inside. They'd cooked together that night amid the ease of not needing to ask for what you needed, the other person just being there to hand it over, making it fun to cook. Then it was eating with the girls, all smiles and happiness and Beau smashing down all his food and spitting up chocolate custard everywhere like he'd always done. It was the first night Liam and Harry had the children all tucked into bed and quiet before eleven o'clock. 

The strange attraction he had to Harry might have started with him being half naked in a hammock, but it definitely moved up a notch that night on the sofa. Harry tugged Liam's feet into his lap and those incredible long fingers of his gave Liam a foot rub that made him have to bite down moans of appreciation. 

When the movie they'd been watching ended, it was Liam taking Harry's offered hand to get up off the couch. It was Liam following Harry, hands still clasped, as Harry took him to bed and left him all snuggled under the duvet with a kiss on his brow. There was a joke to be made about Liam taking care of Harry like he was just another child, but when the press of Harry's lips lingered long enough for Liam to hold his breath and wonder what it would be like if he turned his face up, offered his lips to Harry's instead. That's when Liam realised that this was something else entirely. 

Liam had never been with a boy properly, they _were_ all teenage lads on tour at one time or another and a friendly handjob or blowie between mates had been nothing back then. It might have escalated to snogging once in a while when Harry or Liam were lonely or homesick - a bit of fun to pass the time - but nothing more.

This, though, this was something different. This was Liam wrapping a hand around his cock and wanking off as fast as possible to the still-there scent of Harry in the room. To the ghost touch of Harry's hands on his skin. To the look in Harry's eye when he said good night, like that wasn't what he wanted to say at all.

Christ, he had to go home. He had to sort out his life because Harry was leaving soon and then it would be just Liam . . . and maybe that was it. He'd had nothing but Harry for a while now and maybe half-naked girls didn't turn him on anymore. But there was nothing wrong with that. Liam had long ago accepted that it wasn't a dick or a bit of muff that you fell in love with. It was the person they just happened to be attached to.

He just wasn't sure what that meant when it came to Harry and how he fell into the mix that was now Liam's life.

"Want us to get that girl for you, then? Bet she'll put on a right show," Maz said. Andy was already flagging her down, her smile bright, and fuck. Dimples.

Liam swallowed down the last of his drink. "Yeah," he nodded. "Might as well."

 

: : : :

 

Harry finds him at two in the morning, with his head on the counter and a bottle of vodka unopened in front of him.

He's been home for at least an hour, maybe more. He's so confused and he stopped drinking a few hours ago. Left Andy and Maz and the girl with the curls before anything actually went on. 

She was right there. Right in his lap, and he couldn't. He just couldn't.

He's even more confused and he knows what he really wants. What he shouldn't want. 

Harry's _leaving_ them. Even if Liam asked him to stay he wouldn't, because Harry has this life that's outside of the realm in which Liam now lives. He's got until after Christmas before he's got to go back to work again. Liam told himself he'd give them that, get them through one whole set of holidays, and then he'd start out small. He's been in contact with the recording company he used to work for and they're keen to put him with a few artists to work on some songs. There's an email he's still to answer from Simon about something at Syco; Liam's so thankful he has people like Simon still in his life, people who are willing to work around the non-negotiables that Liam has now.

And then there's Harry.

Harry who, scarily, Liam can admit that he wants, just a little. He doesn't even know if Harry feels the same. Harry's never beem one to put down relationship roots. Not properly. Not since the early days with Caroline and whatever it was that went on with Louis. He's never got it out of Nick or Harry if anything beyond a really good friendship went on there, but Harry's never settled down. There's always been too much going on in the world to catch Harry's attention. Why on earth would he settle for a washed-up popstar and three children that aren't even his own?

"What’s up, Li?" Harry asks, tugging the empty tumbler from Liam's hands. He's got his head resting on one elbow, eyes focused on where he can see Harry sitting up on his stool on the other side. 

"Nothing," is what Liam answers, a loud rush of breath at the end that he'll deny is a mostly sad sigh.

Harry picks up on it anyway, threads his fingers through Liam's where they're still outstretched from Harry taking his glass away before. "Don't be an idiot, tell me." 

Liam shakes his head and Harry squeezes his fingers and goes quiet.

Harry's got the patience of a bloody saint when he wants something. All that meditation and yoga has helped with him being silent long enough to make you _want_ to talk, too.

"It sucks, you know?" Liam says softly, finally finding his voice. He doesn't raise his head to see if Harry's listening, knows he will be. "It sucks that I'll never just be fun Uncle Li again. I'll never be able to say goodnight and walk out the door and not have to worry whether Sarah's got that toy elephant by her side so she'll sleep properly. If little Beau is rugged up enough for when he kicks the sheets off like he always does before morning. Or if Fi is actually tucked up in bed, not climbing out the window and fucking off down the pub with that git Ronan from two houses down." 

He sighs and can feel tears pricking at his eyes and it's horrible. What he's saying is _horrible_ but now he's started, now he's actually admitting to all the quiet, dark thoughts that have played in his head for the past six months, it's like he can't stop. 

"But that's not the worst of it. The hardest part about all of this is I can't even grieve for her . . . I can't even have a day to feel properly sad that my sister is gone, that I'll never hear her voice on my phone or have her bake that bloody awful Christmas pudding and have to pretend to like it while she doles me out another slice. I can't even _miss_ her because I don't have a right . . . I had her for thirty-five years and her children, her babies had her for less than a third of those and it's just not fair!" 

He pushes up from the bench, his hand shooting out and knocking the tumbler over where it rolls precariously to one side. Liam doesn't care. He can only turn and walk over to the sink, gazing out on the moonlit yard. The swings where one of the chains has come loose so it's sagging to the side. The upturned chairs around the outdoor table, still draped in sheets that once cost Liam over three hundred quid, now coated in the pot of tea from the pond and mud cakes he'd made with Beau that afternoon. 

He doesn't realise how much he's shaking until Harry's wrapped himself around Liam's back, tugging at Liam's arm until he turns, and Liam collapses then. His face presses to the warmth of Harry's chest, the soft wool of his pullover soaking up Liam's tears as Harry rubs his large hands over Liam's spine. He feels so shit. So hopeless, because as much as he's tried, as hard as he's worked to be everything for these three little people, it's never going to be enough. He's not their mum or their dad, and he's not Uncle Liam anymore . . . he's this weird mix of both, and he's still not sure if he's ever got the balance right. If he ever will.

"I'm just so tired, so tired of doing this on my own, and—" he says through these gut-wrenching sobs, and Christ, Harry's arms around him is the only thing holding him up. "I just don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone."

And there it is. The last of his selfish confessions. The one he's kept buried even deeper than the rest because he had a life before this. He had a career and he had friends and yeah, it might have been four years since his divorce but he had love, too. He can't even imagine that now. Can't think about leaving these children who are his responsibility to go and find someone just for him. The other half to make him whole. He can't even dream about it because it's not _just_ him he has to concern himself about now. Anyone he brings into his life becomes their lives. 

Who would want an instant family of three with a neurotic father figure, anyhow?

Harry's hand has stilled on his back, three fingers at Lian’s jaw sliding to his chin and tilting his head up. Liam closes his eyes as he lets Harry draw him close. Can feel Harry's breath, sweet tea and those bloody cream biscuits he was wolfing down after dinner. 

"Liam, Li," Harry calls softly, and Liam wants to turn away but Harry's hold on him is strong, even though he's barely touching Liam's skin. "You're not alone." 

Liam opens his eyes and Harry's right there, red rimming the green, and there are wet lines cris-crossing his cheeks. Bloody Harry, he's always been the most emotional of them all, and this does nothing at all to make Liam feel better about his confessions tonight.

"I'm right here, mate. I'm right here," Harry says, and there's this conviction in his tone that Liam desperately wants to believe. 

But he can't. He can't when Harry's expected to go back on tour with his band at the end of the month and Liam's mum still can't bear to spend too much time with the kids because they remind her so much of what she's lost. He hasn't spoken to Louis since things went tits-up with the band, and Niall's busy with his TV show, and Zayn has a family of his own. Then there are Andy and Maz, but they have their own lives that Liam hasn't been a proper part of for a while. And Sophia . . . Sophia hasn't returned his calls since they signed the official paperwork dissolving them from being anything to each other anymore. 

He has _no one_ , and Harry's a fool if he can't see it.

"I do for now, but you'll be gone soon and I remember what it's like to be on the road, Haz. I remember how you forget everything apart from getting some sleep and the roar of the crowd as they sing back songs you've written, spent hours debating over phrases and words. I remember what it's like to lose yourself in music, and while you're off being Harry bloody Styles I'll still be here. I'll be here cleaning up the breakfast mess and rocking Beau to sleep and trying to make sure Fiona doesn't turn into one of those girls on 16 and Pregnant!"

Harry snorts. "She's got three years before she's even eligible for that show, Li."

Liam pinches hard at Harry's side, his hands having fallen to rest on Harry's hips earlier. "Oww!" Harry whines, nipping at the tip of Liam's nose, and Liam retaliates, sliding his hand beneath soft wool and Harry's shirt, digging his fingers just under Harry's ribs where he knows he's ticklish. Harry barks out a laugh which Liam muffles with his hand, his eyes widening because it only takes the slightest noise to wake Beau and he's been restless as anything this week. Harry licks Liam’s hand and Liam's face scrunches up as they both laugh. Harry's smile is wide, dimples showing, and Liam is so, _so_ glad Harry's here. 

"Harry," he breathes, about to tell him just what he thinks, but then his whole world turns on its axis when Harry kisses him. It's this kiss that’s wet from all the tears they've both shed but it's lovely and soft and when Harry hesitates, Liam doesn't think before he pushes back. He's not closed his eyes and Harry hasn't either, but his lashes are fluttering as Liam tilts his head and deepens their kiss further, welcoming Harry's tongue into his mouth. Liam's hands fall back to Harry's waist, pulling him in. Harry's got one hand at the back of Liam's head, fingers entwined in the curls he hasn't had time to get cut. 

The sink is a pinch at his back but Liam barely has time to notice as Harry gets a knee between his legs and twists close so Liam's got something to grind up into. It feels so good, so good just having someone touch him, hold him for a moment, that Liam loses himself completely. All he knows is Harry's lips on his own, Harry's warmth at his front, Harrys little choked-off whimpering _sounds_ in his ear as Liam's fingertips seek out the warm expanse of Harry's back, trace the elastic that holds his pants up. 

Thank Christ he convinced Harry to wear, at the very least, joggers around the house. These soft jersey things Harry's wearing are loose, unlike the jeans he's practically lived in since he turned eighteen, since finding out how good they made his legs look. It all means Liam's got access to the round peach of Harry's bum, can grab at the curve of his cheek where it meets his thigh and drag Harry closer. Harry ducks his head and groans into Liam's neck and then his teeth are right there and Liam knows that Harry's going to leave a bloody mark around the chocolate smear lookalike of his birthmark. 

He should be worried about this. Should be wondering what the hell he's doing, fucking around with Harry. Kissing a best mate. Yet all he can do is grasp Harry wherever he can, push into every single one of Harry's touches and bite down hard on his lip, so much so he swears he can taste blood, when Harry twists a certain way and it's this perfect friction on Liam's cock. He can feel Harry hard against him, the thick length of his cock riding against the round of Liam's belly that's grown in the last few months since gym workouts and jogs around the park are no more. The only exercise he gets now is bounding up the staircase chasing Beau around, trying to get him to put clothes on, and scaring off that Ronan fellow when he catches him in Fi's room. 

"You're an idiot, Li. I'm right here, I'm here," Harry says, his voice deep and thick with something that Liam knows echoes in his own throat. He doesn't answer, doesn't say anything, just drags Harry's lips back to his and pulls Harry in harder. He keeps dragging Harry in and they've got this tempo going between them and it feels amazing. Feels _so good_ and it's not going to take long to get Liam off. Between having either the world’s fastest wank in the shower - when he gets one alone - or having to stop just as he gets started because someone wants him, he's not got off much at all since moving into Ruth's house.

Liam thinks Harry's close, too. He's probably had about the same chance to get off as Liam has since he came to stay two months ago, maybe less because Sarah's nearly attached herself to Harry when he walked in the door. She's always sneaking in with him when she thinks Liam won't notice and he doesn't like it, wants her to settle on her own, but Harry doesn't care. He's been the one who has Fiona smiling properly again, too. Liam will cope with not being her favourite anymore, if it's Harry who gets her back to being even a fraction of the niece Liam knew and loved before. 

Harry's breathing hot and sharp against Liam's neck and Liam's gasping for air of his own. "Gonna come, Li," he whimpers, and he's making the same sounds that Liam once pretended not to hear in their bunks back when they were young and stupid and had their whole lives ahead of them. "Christ, _Liam_ ," Harry groans, and Liam holds him close as Harry's rhythm changes and his whole body stiffens, the warm wet of his come staining Harry's pants and spreading out into Liam's own. 

Harry's nearly a dead weight on Liam's shoulder and Liam's so turned on, so close, and he just needs a bit more. He doesn't know how to ask, but it doesn't matter. Harry drops to his knees on the tiles and tugs Liam's trackies down enough that Liam's cock pops out, red and shiny at the tip. Before Liam can even _breathe_ Harry's got his mouth on him, taking him in deep and bobbing his head so fast that Liam has to brace himself, both hands behind him on the sink as within a few embarrassingly quick seconds he's coming down Harry's throat without having the courtesy to let Harry know. 

Harry doesn't seem to care, though. Not when he pulls off, pressing his lips softly to Liam's sensitive tip as he tucks Liam's dick back in his pants. He stands on shaky legs and nuzzles his way back into Liam's arms, wrapping his spaghetti-like limbs around Liam's torso and ducking his head into the curve of Liam's neck. Liam breaks his near death grip on the sink and fits his hands to the small of Harry's back and just holds him, holds Harry as much as Harry's holding him, until their breathing evens out. Harry turns then, shuffles out of Liam's hold but grabs at his hand instead, entwining their fingers with a soft smile and tugging at Liam until he follows along. 

He follows Harry up the stairs, pads along behind him, soft and sure. Neither of them speak as Harry pushes Liam down onto his bed, disappearing only for a moment to the ensuite that houses more of Beau and Sarah's bath toys than anything for Liam himself. When Harry comes back he's got a pair of Liam's Superman boxers on as he climbs in beside Liam, shoving him over until they're wrapped around each other in the middle of the bed. Harry's hand makes this circulatory trip up and over Liam's side where he's got his head mostly on Liam's chest, their legs entwined from hip to toe. 

"Not alone, Li," he says through a quiet yawn. "I'll never let you be alone."

Liam sleeps right through until morning, right through Beau's cries for attention, through Fiona coming home in tears because that Ronan bloke broke her heart, through Sarah creeping in and curling up beside him, still tired from her first slumber party where she didn't sleep at all.

He sleeps through all of that only to wake when Harry presses a kiss to his brow, letting him know dinner is on if he wants it.

Liam wants . . . but he isn't sure it's Harry's seafood paella that will fill his heart.

 

: : : :

 

They don't do anything much after that night.

They're both busy, Fiona is locking herself in her room again, and only Lux gets her out when Liam and Harry are at their wits’ end. She takes Fiona out to London for the day, and when they get home it's Liam who she hugs and clings to and thanks for letting her go. Sarah's got a part in some production at school so she's busy running lines in front of her mirror - because it's drama she's into this term - “perfecting her craft." Liam doesn't even _know_ where she got that from. And Beau, Beau is walking everywhere and is into everything and Liam loses his breath most days just trying to keep up.

Harry's started rehearsals early.

He's gone in the morning, once the children are off to school, and he doesn't get in until after they get home. A few nights he hasn't come back at all, and if it weren't for Harry texting to let him know, Liam would be mardy about it all.

Even though he has no reason to be. He has no hold over Harry.

Harry's just a mate.

A mate who he snogged and who he got a rather spectacular blow job from.

But a mate, is all.

Two weeks later Fiona's at a girlfriend’s and Sarah's at Hannah's after dress rehearsal and Liam wakes up to a half-naked Harry crawling into bed beside him. They don't do anything that night. Well, they snog a bit and when it starts getting heated, when Liam starts pulling at Harry to crawl on top of him or gets his hand too close to the curve of Harry's bum, Harry stops. He pats at Liam's side and he presses his lips all soft and sweet to Liam's. He whispers, "Ni-night, Li," and turns on his side, tugging Liam's arm across his middle, and they sleep like that until morning.

When Liam wakes Harry's gone. It continues like that anytime either of the girls aren't home.

It confuses Liam more than ever because maybe it's just a comfort thing for Harry. An extension of the constantly needing-to- _touch_ thing that Harry's always seemed to have.

Maybe Liam thinks about it too much.

 

: : August : :

 

He wakes with a start and the house is quiet, absolutely silent, which is normal of late. Harry's been getting up for Beau more than Liam does. It's different this morning, though. Liam can almost feel the emptiness, like everyone's gone and he's on his own. 

When he looks at the side table to check the time, he finds a single cupcake with an unlit candle sitting in the top of it. A card that is obviously handmade is propped up on the side.

He slips his glasses on, a smile playing over his lips as he reads the words inside that could only be from Sarah, a quickly scrawled "Love you, Uncle Li" from Fiona on the other side. Even Beau's in there, someone having drawn around his hand which takes up half the card. 

He notices the iPad's there, too, when he sits up against the headboard, already licking some of the buttercream swirl from the top of the cupcake. He settles the iPad on his knees and when he slides it unlocked there's a picture of all three kids and Harry sitting on the sofa. Liam presses play and his smile only gets bigger when they all start singing Happy Birthday.

"We thought you deserved a bit of a lie-in today, so we'll be down at the park until lunch and maybe off to the pro shop–—"

Fiona interrupts with a whine. "No, Uncle Harry, nobody wants to play golf. You promised we'd go see a movie—"

Harry's eyes go comically large. "I did not! I promised that we'd do something exciting this afternoon, and excuse me for thinking that finding the perfect putter is a good part of any day—"

" _Harry_!" Fiona rolls her eyes and Harry winks at the camera.

They're going to a movie. Harry will probably find someplace small and out of the way where they can sneak in when the lights are down. He's good like that. Liam might have been out of the spotlight for a while now, but Harry's band is somewhat high-profile and he still has paps following him around. Not as much while he's been here; Harry's always known how to get them to back off, how to disappear for a while.

"Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted—" He stares at Fiona and she smiles, and it's so much like Ruth when she was that age that it makes something twinge in Liam's heart. "We just wanted to say have a great day, and do something for yourself, Li! We'll see you tonight for dinner. Sarah's already promised to make your favourite!" 

"Fish fingers and custard!" she shouts, fist pumping in the air and Liam groans. He should never have let her start watching old reruns of Doctor Who. She's also taken to wearing bow ties and wants a bloody fez for Christmas. Harry ruffles her hair, a smile so tender playing on his lips that Liam's hit by this rush of affection, this feeling that he can't control. Harry's so lovely and he looks tired but he's smiling and Liam wants to kiss that grin right away from his mouth.

When Beau lets out a squawk, Liam remembers why he's not supposed to be doing that. Why he can't let Harry have any bigger hold on his heart than he already does.

"We'll see you later, and happy birthday, Liam!"

The screen freezes on them at the end and Liam can see it, see the family he could build if there weren't so many barriers in the way. He can see how Harry would fit seamlessly into their lives, someone Liam could lean on when he felt like everything was going to shit and he had no idea what was up or down. Harry could _be_ that someone, but in a few weeks Harry will be gone.

Because Harry's still living that life that Liam eventually moved on from. 

Liam can't go back and Harry can't do anything but go forward, and this is what Liam has to prepare for.

But not yet. Not now. 

He's showered and at the park within an hour, meeting Harry's none too surprised smile with an equally large one of his own.

It's his birthday. He's allowed to be a little stupid and selfish on his birthday. It's just one day more.

 

: : September : :

 

When Harry leaves them early one morning, it's to cheers and waves at the doorstep as he steps into the car waiting to take him to the airport. It's with kisses blown from a wound-down window that they make their goodbyes.

It's with a heavy heart that Liam follows these children he loves back into their house.

It's quietly, near silently, that he falls apart when they're all asleep. It's then that Liam deals with his broken heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for moo who shouty caps and sweet potato emoji because always and DEDICATED TO LIAMS INSANE AMOUNT OF SELFIES TONIGHT THAT INTERUPTED ME WRITING SO WE GET THIS WITH AN ADDED PART. which i'll explain at the end.  
> 

**PART TWO**

 

: : November : :

 

Life goes on and it's a continuous loop of try and fail and try again.

He makes headway with Fiona. They talk a lot more and she tells him that she's been sad, that she talked to one of her teachers at school and Mrs. Toms thinks she should talk to someone properly. Liam hates himself for not realising that Fiona probably needed that much earlier. She's been crying out for something and it wasn't just the fact that she missed her parents. Liam's been so blind for so long . . . this is something he should have _known_.

Sarah shares her music interest with him a lot more. She rounds him up to play little concerts or "pyjama sessions" on Saturdays when they have nowhere to be. Beau plays the bongos Harry gave him and Liam finds a keyboard that he remembers writing part of One Direction's fifth album on. They mostly sound like crap, but it makes Sarah smile and hug him a lot more so he tries not to care so much about pitch and perfect tone.

Then there's Beau.

The first month after Harry left, Beau would cry out for him in the night.

It broke Liam's heart, especially when Beau wouldn't let Liam settle him but cried until he fell asleep again, exhausted. It sucked and Liam hated Harry for it, even though he knew it wasn't really Harry's fault at all.

It was Liam's.

Liam had let him into their house and into their lives and into his . . . Liam should have known not to let anyone get too close. He's fucked up every relationship in his life and he can not, can _not_ screw around with things like who he likes to cuddle up with at night right now. He can't be a boyfriend or whatever. Not when there are three little people to think about.

He stops answering Harry's calls after the first week. Drags out the time he waits to respond to texts the month after.

In the end, he just blocks Harry from his phone.

 

: : December : : 

 

He's rushing around the house trying to find the black trousers that Sarah has to wear for the Christmas concert at her school tonight. He knows he washed them, had them ironed and set with the rest of her outfit, hanging off her door earlier, but . . . then Beau happened.

Beau's figured out how to get out of his cot and Liam hasn't had time to sort out a proper toddler bed for him (he thinks maybe the cot can be turned into one, but he hasn't looked into that either). He hasn't had time to bloody do much of late, what with Christmas around the corner, and trying to make sure he's got all the things from Santa that the girls have asked for, and food enough to make dinner because his mum's arthritis is playing up. Then there's ferrying Sarah back and forth to school for rehearsals and Fiona's had extra sessions at her therapist because it's _Christmas_. Add to that Beau's stomach flu he had for the past week, resulting in a rather spectacular technicolour rainbow of vomit and other bodily fluids on nearly every surface of the house. Which means germophobe Liam's come out to play. The house has been in a near constant state of disgusting smells and chemical bloody overload. 

And he can't sleep. He just . . . can't.

He's a walking zombie most days, surviving on the three or four hours he does manage. Exhaustion takes hold when the house is clean and quiet and he's finally got his feet up, watching reruns of rubbish on the telly. He'll nod off and wake up with some sales program on, and stumble up the stairs as quietly as he can to try and sleep in his own bed. But he never does. He'll be stupid tired as he lies down, pulls the covers up, and yawns. Then it's five minutes or less later and his eyes pop open, leaving Liam lying there until he hears Beau stir. 

He's stopped taking Fiona in to see her therapist. There's only so many times he can handle her taking him by the arm, that look of pity or whatever it is in her eye, as she reminds him that she doesn't _only_ have children on her books.

He lies to his mum and fobs her off whenever she puts a hand to his face. He can't look at her, because she's lost one child and it's Liam's own fault if he looks as if she's about to lose another. She won't, though. Liam's determined, if not stubborn, not to let her down. Won't let Ruth or Jeremy down, either.

He can do it on his own.

All of it.

He's just got to get through this bit of a rough patch and he'll be fine. He'll be fine.

Until then, he's got to find another clean pair of trousers for Sarah and get Fiona off the phone to bloody Ronan (they made up just before end of term; Liam doesn't mind the lad now he's had to suffer through a dinner with him once). He's actually a bit of a nerd with his DC shirts and his glasses that Liam thought were just for show. They're due at the school in an hour and Beau is possibly still covered in paint because he got into Fiona's art box not long after he made Sarah's clothes disappear.

Beau really is living up to the nickname of "Beast" that Sarah gave him. It came after she got in from school to find he'd tore up the few pages of "lyrics" she'd put down into the little diary Harry had sent over from somewhere in Wichita, or Wyoming or one of those cities that sounds like it should have been in a song. Harry's apparently got another one on its way for Christmas. It's three days out and there's been nothing in the post.

He'll bloody kill Harry for the disappointed look he's seen on his niece's face every morning for the past two weeks when she checks the post or asks Liam if anything's come. The worst part is he can't find one online or in the shops that is anything like the original. 

Just something else he's failed on. He'll add it to the pile that's slowly stacking up.

Surely there had to be a reason Ruth and Jeremy thought he'd be good at this, thought he was the right one to take care of their kids if they were gone. Then again, they probably thought it wouldn't ever be an issue.

Liam wishes on a daily basis that it weren't.

He's got a mouthful and noseful of dust bunnies, lying halfway under Sarah's bed - he's _got_ to remember to hoover in here more than once a month - when the doorbell goes. It's probably Ronan, he's coming with them tonight which Liam isn't too fussed about, but Fiona's thirteen and Ronan's fifteen and it'll be fine. He'll sit between them if he has to. Fiona might not talk to him for a few days, but she'll get over it. 

The doorbell goes again and Liam calls out for someone to get the bloody thing. Sarah's voice sings back not to say "bloody, because Nanny says bloody is a swear word and you bloody use it too much!" Liam chokes on an answer because he's found Sarah's missing clothes, now rumpled and . . . great, a bit of spew on the left leg. There's no time to rewash them and have them dry in time, and baby wipes just won't get this level of _gunk_ off without it being noticeable. He flicks through Sarah's wardrobe and finds a skirt that he can't remember her wearing before, or even buying, but it's black and it's long so it'll have to do. 

The house is mostly quiet apart from Sarah's guitar that he can hear from the spare room. They turned it into a shared space for Sarah to play music and Fiona to paint a few weeks back, pushing the bed no one uses to the back wall. It's a little _too_ quiet, which means Fiona's probably got her tongue down Ronan's throat. That's something he didn't think he'd have to worry about for another couple of years. Twenty, if he could help it. 

Still, Ronan holds her hand more than he kisses her lips, so there's that.

There's no sign of Beau, either, as Liam walks down the stairs, sneezing and wiping at his eyes with the corner of his shirt. He's stumbling a bit and calling out to Sarah at the same time. He's wishing that he actually had something like a drop of alcohol in the house that _wasn't_ just the vanilla essence he bought to make cupcakes for playgroup the week before. He'd probably get drunk on just that; it's been a while since he's caught up with Nick or touched anything other than coffee, tea, or milk. The doorbell goes once more and it's like someone has their finger on it. Liam groans. If this is Marissa again after he had to fend her off last night about holding a Tupperware party at his house, he might just lose his cool and tell her to fuck off.

Liam wouldn't do that. He's tired and cranky but he'd never be _that_ rude to anyone.

Not even dozy cows that just won't take the hint and leave him alone.

He's still wiping at his now itchy eyes when he reaches the last stair. Fiona flies past him with a squeal. 

Liam can only shake his head and call out to Sarah to come put the skirt on when Fiona only gets louder. He did _not_ think she was like this with Ronan. He was _definitely_ sitting between them now.

"Just let the boy in, Fi. What would your mum say if she knew you'd left a visitor standing out front like that?" Liam says. He finishes wiping at his eyes and settling his glasses back on. He's still got to sew a loose button onto Sarah's shirt. Sometimes he can't believe this has become his life: cleaning up baby vomit instead of throwing up in some club in a country he can't remember the name of, playing Through The Dark on the toy xylophone while Beau accompanies on bongos, the only crowd to roar coming in the form of a well-timed cheer when someone scores in the United match he has the telly on for. 

It's better than being some washed-up junkie popstar, he supposes. He could have ended up like Bieber, loathed worldwide and a joke before he turned twenty-one. 

Fiona is still squealing and Sarah's adding to the noise. Liam looks up when she knocks past him, running down the hall. He's about to tell her off about that as well, but when he looks up the words just disappear from his mouth.

"Hope I'm not too late for the concert," Harry says, and Liam just stands there, mouth open wide, blinking like he's just stared into the sun.

Close. Harry does have the outside light on above him and it's giving his curls an ethereal glow that Liam really doesn't need to be seeing this close to Christmas and running on two hours of sleep from the night before. 

He's smiling, dimples deep and eyes flashing green with a hint of red at the edges. He looks tired. There are a few extra lines at the corners of his mouth that make Liam wonder if Harry's had trouble sleeping, too. He sort of hopes he has.

"I _told_ you he was coming!" Fiona says, arm wrapped around Harry's waist. Her face is so bright, so obvious in her happiness, that something a little bit like jealousy flares in Liam's gut.

Sure, they've been getting along well since Harry left on tour. They talk a lot more and she comes to him with problems that aren't just school work related - because he's still so horrible at English and math - but she hasn't looked at him like she’s looking at Harry right now. Not since . . . well, maybe not even when her parents were alive and he'd visit every three or so months, just to stay in touch. 

He's so focused on how that look makes him feel that he almost doesn't remember what she said to Sarah as she nearly squeezed one of Harry's legs off. 

"I said I would. I had to bring this, didn't I?" Harry reaches into the black peacoat he's got on and pulls out a leatherbound notebook that Liam's got nearly seared into his brain from looking online for for so long. Of course. The book.

Of course Harry's delivering it in person. Of course.

Sarah makes a sound only the dogs in the street can hear. She ignores Harry's apologies for it not being wrapped, and Fiona drags him in from the door. Liam's still standing at the foot of the stairs, trying to take it all in, when a high-pitched squeal quiets them all.

"'Aarrryyy!" Beau bellows, running full tilt in that slightly wobbly way that toddlers do when they're still a little unsteady on their feet. 

Harry bends down to meet him, and don't the four of them make a picture. Harry with Beau in his arms, Beau pulling on his curls as Harry smiles and presses kisses all over his face. Fiona's still wrapped herself around his side and she's looking happier than Liam can ever remember her being. Sarah's bouncing around in front of them all, holding the notebook in her hands like it's the Holy Grail.

"Come on, you lot, we've got to leave in the next twenty minutes and you're not even dressed yet, Sarah. Fiona, you promised to do Sarah's hair, and I still have to get Beau in the bath and some clothes on," Liam interrupts, with a tone that sounds a lot more authoritative than he had been aiming for. 

The cheers wind up and Fiona rolls her eyes, unwinding from where Harry has his spare arm around her. She grabs Beau and puts him on her hip, then pulls at Sarah's hand to get her to follow. She says nothing, but her glare as she walks past Liam and up the stairs speaks louder than words. Beau's crying the entire way, hands reaching back toward Harry.

Liam only releases a breath when a door slams somewhere above, shutting out most of Beau's noise and leaving Liam in the quiet.

With Harry.

Harry, who he hasn't really spoken to since he went on tour. Harry, who is still standing there in his stupid black boots and his black jeans and his black coat, and a bloody black scarf with a black beanie on his head. He could be dressed as Death if it weren't for the hesitant smile still playing on his rosy lips. Then again, Death would probably greet you with a grin anyhow. 

"Hiya," Harry says, soft and slightly sheepish, and Liam feels his cheeks heat because here's Harry looking like he stepped off a runway, and Liam . . . .

Liam's still in his bloody flannellette pyjama bottoms that he's fairly certain have a hole somewhere in the crotch. He's got his Batman shirt on that he found at the bottom of a pile of washing; it barely fits over the belly he can't deny is not disappearing any time soon. It's topped off with a grey cardigan that he's pretty sure belonged to Ruth because it still smells faintly like her if he shoves his face into the crook of his elbow, her perfume clinging even though it's been a year since she's worn it. Maybe even longer. He really does need to do a proper wash.

"Hi." He clears his throat. "Hi yourself," he says, pulling the cardi around his body and crossing his arms at the same time. He wishes he didn't mean to look so standoffish, but . . . it's hard when he isn't sure why Harry's here. He thought he'd made it clear by virtually ignoring Harry that he didn't need him around anymore.

Obviously Liam was wrong.

"How've you been?" Harry asks, unwinding his scarf, and Liam makes a sound instead of an answer because Harry's undoing the buttons on his coat next. He turns and hangs them on the hook beside Sarah's anorak, Fiona's umbrella, and the pork pie hat that Jeremy wore the last time Liam saw him. 

He really should sort through their things a bit more. Figure out what the children might want to keep, what his mum might want, and donate the rest to charity. He started on that when he first moved in but he'd found this bloody cardi, of all things, and sobbed for an hour straight before he gave up. He'd honestly forgotten about the damn thing until today, when he couldn't find a clean pullover and this was at the bottom of the wardrobe under some questionably clean socks. 

Still, he wears it like armour now, Ruth protecting him from beyond the grave from fucking things up any further, or some such. 

He really needs to stop watching daytime soaps.

"Sorry I'm late, traffic was a nightmare - and did you know it's snowing out? Mum said we might even have a white Christmas," Harry says, pulling off his beanie and shaking his curls out. His hair's so long it reminds Liam of their first stadium world tour when Harry would wear it in a ridiculous topknot. There's this glimmer of fondness in his heart, but he shuts that down. He can't afford to think _fondly_ of Harry at all. Not now.

"I don't mean to be rude," Liam says, clearing his throat once more because Harry and _feelings_ are clogging it up. "But what do you mean late, and like, why are you here? Last I heard you weren't due home until your birthday, and even Nick wasn't sure you were coming back at all." 

Harry tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow the slightest touch. Shit. That sounds like Liam's been asking after him and he hasn't. Anything but. It's just that Nick sent him a text and was whining about Harry not answering about the New Year’s party he and David were having. He might have mentioned being disappointed that Harry wouldn't be joining them, that Harry was busy with something, but Liam hadn't asked what. He hadn't asked Nick anything about Harry but it didn't matter, Nick was always willing to divulge even if Liam cared naught about Gelz and her man troubles, or Fincham screwing something up on air. 

Surely, though - surely Nick would have let him know if Harry had changed his mind and come home. 

Or maybe this was what Harry was "busy" for. Him. Well, not Liam, maybe, but the children he lived with, perhaps.

"Don't tell Nick everything, now, do I?" Harry says with a laugh, taking the few steps needed to stand in front of Liam, his arms out. Then he's wrapping Liam in a hug that he returns because it's Harry and he's here and he's never turned away from Harry before. It's ridiculous to think he can stop now.

"Missed you," Harry whispers in his ear after taking in this deep breath, and Liam doesn't let himself think on the why of that too much. He's sure he still smells like the tea he spilled on himself this morning when Beau dropped a big block on his foot. 

"Fuck," Harry laughs, and it's low and soft. "Missed you a whole fucking lot," he breathes out, and then he's patting Liam's back like they're mates. He pulls back, still keeping his hands on Liam, sliding them up to his shoulders, and Liam feels every shift of Harry's heated touch.

Liam doesn't know what to say, how to say anything that's playing through his mind, but it's not like he needs to. Harry's looking at him and there's this twinkle in his eye that Liam knows. Has seen before. It's this content that he's radiating and Liam doesn't know what to do with that. Doesn't know what to do with Harry here in his house and basically in his arms.

"Think I'll pop upstairs and make sure the girls have Beau under control. Why don't you get in the shower, Li? Didn't you say we only had twenty minutes? Can't have you turning up and revealing your true identity, now, can we?" He smirks, playfully pinching at Liam's nipple before he slips past and up the stairs.

Liam blinks and takes in Harry's coat and scarf and looks down at where the bag he must have brought is dropped just inside the door. It's definitely not an overnight bag, by the sheer size of it. There's another that looks like a bloody Santa sack and - knowing Harry - it probably is filled with weird and wonderful things for the girls and Beau.

He's at a loss for what to do with what just happened. Harry Styles bloody turning up at his door - Fiona sounding like she knew he was coming - Beau running up and attacking him like Harry'd been gone three minutes instead of three months. 

"Uncle Li! Harry says you’re not even dressed yet, can you hurry up and get your bum in the bath!" 

Fiona's voice echoes down from upstairs and Harry's follows behind, telling her not to say bum, and it's so strange. So very much like when Harry was here every day and helping out, and Liam has no idea how to handle this. None.

So he walks upstairs to the bath and concentrates on getting washed.

That's the easy part done.

 

: : : :

 

Liam carries Sarah up to her room with Harry following behind, a completely knackered Beau in his arms. Fiona's out in the street still, saying her goodbyes to Ronan which Liam knows means snogging at the car. He could think about caring, but it's midnight and he's just as tired as the little girl who's smiling in her sleep, even when he puts her down on her bed. He brushes some of her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear as he pulls up her blanket, making sure she's warm. He's just so proud of her tonight. So overwhelmed with this feeling that he might actually be doing something right considering how well everything went for Sarah and her performance. She absolutely rocked her solo on guitar; she stood in the spotlight, her fingers moving over the fretboard with this ease that Liam didn't know she possessed. He’d somehow missed it in the day to day grind of running the house. 

He stands in the doorway with his finger on the light switch, just watching as she sleeps, which is probably creepy but it's not often that Sarah _stops_. It's rare to see this darling girl, who is usually bursting with energy and talking his ear off with ideas and wonder, actually slow down for anything at all. Even in her sleep she's usually restless with her legs and snuffles that Liam can sometimes hear in the quiet of the house, when he's the only one wide awake at all.

It's where Harry finds him a few minutes later, putting his chin on Liam's shoulder, the tender touch of his fingertips on Liam's hip. He's this solid warmth at Liam's spine. "Your girl smashed it out there tonight," he says. His voice is soft but Liam can hear the same amount of awe that he himself feels, echoed in Harry's tone.

Liam nods, not wanting to break the moment, because it feels like they're in one.

"Ruth and Jeremy would be proud, you know. Proud of her - of Fiona and Beau, too. You've done such a good job with them, Li. They've come so far." 

At the mention of Ruth's name Liam feels tears well in his eyes and his hand drops from where he had it wrapped around himself to cover Harry's fingers with his own. He doesn't say thanks, doesn't feel like he needs to when Harry steps in closer, his body fitted up against Liam's back like a puzzle piece finding its home.

He doesn't know how long they stand like that, just breathing and watching and being. It's not until Fiona whispers her goodnights that he realises what he's doing. Who he's with. Who he's let just slip right back in under his ribs until he's right there against the beat of Liam's heart. 

He pulls away once Fiona's door is shut and doesn't look at Harry when he nods at the staircase, murmuring that they should talk. He starts off anyway, listening to Harry's feet echo behind as they end up in the kitchen. There's the once familiar squeak of the barstool that was Harry's back when he was nearly living here as Liam puts the kettle on. He fiddles with the tea bags and sugar, anything so he doesn't have to turn and look at Harry, see whatever it is that might lie in the depths of his green, green eyes. 

When the kettle boils and he's got the tea sorted, he still has no idea what he's going to say. He sets Harry's cup v in front of him. Liam stands on the opposite side of the bench and blows quietly over his brew and waits for some sort of conversation starter to pop into mind.

It doesn't, as he takes his first sip. Then his third. The only noise in the kitchen comes from the clock and the soft scuffle of sawdust from Elphaba, Sarah's hamster that lives in the corner near the back door. 

"Harry—" he starts, just as Harry says his name in return.

Harry snorts and Liam smiles and this isn't how he saw this going at all. Then again, he never thought he'd have Harry back in his house like this. Not for a while, anyhow.

"I meant what I said upstairs," is what Harry opens with, once they've both drunk a little more from their mugs. "You've done a brilliant job. Fiona looks happy, sounds it often enough when she talks to me on Skype. And when Sarah sings? She's you all over, and Beau . . . Beau's got so big," he says, his voice all fond as he shakes out his fringe and tucks it behind his ear in a move Liam hasn't seen since they first started out. Back when Liam and Harry both had ridiculously large hair that made it hard for people to tell them apart.

Liam runs a hand through his own shorter cut. It's not buzzed, but close enough with how short Murphy cuts it when Liam ducks into the little barber around the corner from Fiona's therapist. It's easy to handle, just wash and wear, no mess and fuss, like the fauxhawk he had before he left New York. Before he ended up with three kids to run after every day, when he could spend twenty minutes just staring at himself in the mirror without anyone reminding him that he promised to get them to school _early_ this time. 

There was a lot of Liam's life he regarded as Before and After. He still wasn't sure what side he wanted to put Harry on. 

"It's been three months, Harry. Kids grow, get teeth, fall over and get back up again. It's what they do. I'm just here to make the food and keep them in line." He shrugs and puts his cup in the sink because he can't handle Harry saying all these lovely things about the children who are asleep upstairs. He's also slightly embarrassed and a little annoyed that they all seem to have kept in contact without Liam knowing anything about it at all.

"Yes, but you're more than that, Li. You've given them something, you know? I can see a little part of you in all of them. Sarah smiles like you do and Fiona has your laugh and Beau . . . I don't know, he _is_ you in so many ways."

"I don't think I've ever stuck as much weird stuff in my mouth as Beau does on a regular basis," Liam scoffs, and Harry laughs. There's the sound of the bar stool scraping as he gets up. In the reflection of the kitchen window Liam can see Harry move around behind him. 

"Pretty sure that crap we ate when we had that game show challenge thing with Millsy was the worst." 

Liam turns his nose up; it might have been over a decade ago but he still remembers Harry's face when he tried bubble tea. He rinses his cup out at the sink and nearly drops the thing when he feels Harry at his back. His breath is tea-warm at Liam's neck as he reaches around and places his cup down beside Liam's. Liam expects him to move, to do something, not wrap his other arm around Liam's side, effectively caging him in.

"Did I mention I missed you?" Harry says, lips soft at the curve of Liam's ear, and it's enough to have Liam's whole body on edge. It feels like every single hair on his head is standing on end and he can't breathe. Can only hold it all in as Harry nuzzles in further, rubs his cheek against Liam's where he didn't shave, just trimmed at the scraggly beard that’s begun to grow.

Harry chuckles, this low vibrato. "You're so spikey. Reminds me of when we did the shoot for You and I and you had that beard thing going on. Looked good then," he says, shifting closer and sending shivers down Liam's spine. "Looks good now."

It's too much. It's far too much with only the thin button-down Liam's wearing and the soft wool pullover Harry's got on. The sleeves of which feel lovely against Liam's wrists as Harry settles his hands on top of Liam's, his fingers slipping between the spaces of Liam's own.

"Liam—" Harry starts, but Liam can't do this. He can't do this again just because Harry's here and it feels like he never left. He can't do _this_ again with his heart.

"Why didn't you say you were coming?" Liam interrupts, trying not to lean into Harry's touch.

He can feel Harry shrug, sighing as he presses his chin down on Liam's shoulder and leans his head against Liam's. "I told you I'd be back," he says, like it's something Liam should know. He does remember Harry saying that, but he just assumed that he meant in the country. Not here in Liam's house. Not here in Liam's arms.

Harry's got his hand between them now and is rubbing up and over Liam's chest, holding him close. It feels too good, too nice to have Harry like this. To feel cared for.

But he's been down this road before. It hurts too much, because as lovely as it is having Harry here, having Harry so close, there'll always be a time when Harry's not.

He pushes back against Harryp and slips out from his touch. He takes a few steps away, giving him some breathing space. Harry turns, looking confused as Liam shoves his hands in his pockets for something to do.

There's a lump in his throat that wasn't there before, a heaviness in his chest that he can't deny is from anything else but the choice he has to make right here, right now.

"You said you'd be back, but I just thought you meant—" He huffs, because this is harder than he thought, talking to Harry about this without actually _talking_ about what he wants to properly.

"I didn't say when and I guess that's my fault, but Fiona kept saying how sad you seemed and I got busy and never called enough so we thought it would be a surprise. Something nice," Harry says, and he's looking down at the ground, curls covering his eyes. He sounds upset; his words almost have this wet quality to them and this might be even worse.

When he raises his head and Liam's met with glassy green eyes and a slight tremble to Harry's pink pout he wants to take back his every word and thought. He always hated seeing Harry upset and he's bloody flown straight here, all the way from their last concert in LA, from what Liam heard Harry telling Fiona in the car on the way home. He's flown all this way just to be with them . . . with all of them, and Liam's here basically telling him to fuck off?

Liam hates himself.

"I did tell Fiona I was coming, Liam. She said you were fine with it, but if you don't want me to stay, you just have to say. I'll go. I'm not that—" he pauses, talking straight through a yawn— "that tired, after all."

He goes to walk past Liam and there’s a knot forming in Liam’s chest that unravels when he reaches out without thinking and grabs at Harry's arm. His fingers grip tight around the anchor at Harry's wrist, like it's holding Liam down, too. 

"Stay," he says, softer and still filled with a meaning he isn't entirely sure of. "The children will be upset if you're not here when they wake up. Beau will probably cry all day and I've got a lot on tomorrow. Need to get started on Ruth's Christmas pud recipe."

Harry nods slowly, like he's still making up his mind. "Thought you hated that, said it tasted like floury goop with fruit."

Liam smiles and ignores the sharp pain in his heart. Ignores how much it means that Harry remembers that random little fact. It shouldn't mean as much as it does.

"Yeah, but it just wouldn't be Christmas without it," he says, and even to his own ears he sounds choked up. Christ, he told himself he wouldn't do this. He'd figure out an easy way to let Harry go and move on with his life but then Harry has to go and remember something like this and . . . he's so _tired_. So tired of keeping it all together. He yawns and hopes Harry won't hear that catch in the back of his throat.

"C'mon, Liam," Harry says, winding their fingers together and tugging them down the hall. Liam lets Harry lead them upstairs and to his room, shuffling inside without turning the light on. They don't need it, there's light enough from the street and the moon is out. He pulls off his shirt and gets rid of his trousers and socks while Harry pulls back the covers and strips just the same. They don't say anything as they climb into bed. 

Liam can blame utter exhaustion for why he doesn't say anything when Harry snuggles against his chest, turning Liam this way and that until they're all tangled up.

He's asleep in seconds anyway. There's no time to talk.

 

: : January: :

 

They still haven't talked. 

It's New Year’s Eve, and apart from the few hours on Boxing Day when Harry took the trip to Cheshire to see his family they haven't really been apart. 

There's not actually been the time to really discuss anything between them, either.

What with Liam's parents being happy to see Harry when they showed up on Christmas Day for dinner and the kids all over Harry like a rash. There's always been something to do, some meat to turn or fight to break up when Beau touches something of Sarah's that sets her off. Fiona's a bit quiet, Christmas having reminded her a little too much of the parents she's lost, and Liam's spent a lot of the past few days holed up in her room just holding her, letting her work her feelings out. He took them all to the graveyard on Boxing Day, when Harry was gone. 

He didn't know if it was the right thing to do or not. It was strange when they got there, right up until Sarah pulled out a bloody feast of leftovers from her bag that Liam hadn't noticed she'd brought. They sat there, in the bloody cold, all rugged up eating sandwiches that Harry had prepared before he left, having a good old chat with Ruth and Jeremy. The kids opened right up. Beau was happy to wander around entertaining the elderly woman and her daughter a few graves up with his smiles and offering them some of the Christmas pud that Liam had to rescue them from.

Liam had broken down that night when the house was silent and Harry arrived home. Harry had come in to tell him he was back and found Liam a sobbing mess. He was sitting at the kitchen table, plate of pudding in front of him covered in brandy custard that was more brandy than custard once Liam finished adding half a bottle of the stuff. Liam told Harry story after story of Ruth when they were growing up. Surely he'd told Harry some of them before, but Harry didn't say a word, just grabbed an extra spoon and helped Liam finish off the pudding even though it was bound to give them both a stomach ache when the sun came up.

Liam had let Harry into his bed for the second time that visit. He'd let Harry into his bed and blamed the excess of brandy on why he brushed his lips against Harry's. It was also why he kissed down Harry's chest, after pulling off the shirt Harry had been wearing when he'd come in. Liam’s lips were numb from the alcohol, but he could still feel every reaction from Harry as he licked at Harry's cock, took him in and down. He forgot everything else but the way Harry tasted on his tongue, all musk and Liam's own shower gel because the downstairs bath wasn't working and it was the holidays so a plumber was out of the question for now. He catalogued every sound that Harry choked back, every shift of the muscles in Harry's legs as Liam took him apart.

He didn't say anything, couldn't, what with his mouth attached to Harry's after Harry tugged him back up once he'd got off. He sucked at Harry's tongue when Harry got a hand around Liam's cock. It didn't take much to get Liam to come. Harry's touch was just too good and Harry's mouth was this link to all that Liam wanted to say but found he couldn't when Harry kissed him like it _meant_ something. Maybe it did. Maybe it always had and Liam hadn't recognised it before. Maybe he didn't want to.

Again, Liam slept like he hadn't done properly in months. 

It felt like no time at all had passed from closing his eyes until he woke up groggily at Harry's touch. Harry pressed a quick kiss to his lips; Beau's unsettled cries coming through the monitor had woken them both up. 

"I'll get him. Get some extra sleep, you idiot," Harry said, and "you idiot" sounded a lot like something else. Liam did just that. It was Christmas, he told himself; he could be selfish just this once. Even though it was closer to New Year’s than Christmas by far.

Now it _is_ New Year’s, and Liam wants nothing more than to sit at home and watch the fireworks in front of the telly, maybe have a glass of red when the New Year finally begins. Instead he's in London at some party of Harry's friend with a drink in his hand that has an actual umbrella hanging out the top. 

And it's all Nick Grimshaw's fault.

Nick with his pestering and his getting Harry onside and then Fiona, at that, because she's taken an interest in Liam getting out of the house more of late. Or maybe just an interest in Liam's life outside of being her uncle and the word of the law in their house. She orchestrated Liam's mum coming round. Harry found him clothes and Nick got them a room for the night, which wasn't that hard considering it was his spare bed, but still. It was the thought that counted, or that's what Nick said when Liam was blustering about it. 

So Liam's here in a nice pair of jeans he didn't think he'd fit into anymore - running after Beau now _he_ can actually run must be more like exercise than Liam thought - a white button-down and a suit jacket that he forgot he even owned. He looks good - even he can say that - but he does feel a little odd. It's been a long time since he dressed up a bit, and he shaved properly, which seemed like a good idea at the time.

Except for how handsy Harry gets when he's drunk. How tactile Harry becomes with his hands brushing through his own curls or nearly patting Nick's arm because he's got a bloody velvet jacket on. Liam watches this through the balcony where he came to hide and sneak a quick fag early on. He'd been holding his own inside all right when it came to conversation. Found a couple who had children at home and got into deep discussion on reflux and different formulas to use, because Beau had that for a while. They leave early, though, and Liam has two new numbers in his pocket - Andrew is actually a pediatrician but doesn't really deal with bubs - and then Liam's alone. Alone with these people who are discussing the current displacement in a country Liam doesn't even want to begin thinking about how to pronounce, or discussing some Israeli artist’s recent works or even the last holiday they took in Quebec, because it's the new New York now or something. 

Liam's overwhelmed and he feels dumb and he hates that, but he hasn't really got the courage to leave on his own, either. He slips out on the balcony instead, drink he snatched from a server earlier in hand - because it's _that_ type of party - and settles into a chair that he hopes will hold his weight. If it is a chair. This house has many things that look like furniture but are just art. 

He should have just stayed home.

It's something he thinks about again when Harry finds him. Harry throws himself on Liam's lap, spilling the fruity drink in Liam's hand as he does so. He apologises between giggles and asks if Liam's having a good time. His eyes are big and his pupils dilated but there's this big goofy smile on his face that seems to settle everything in Liam's gut.

"Yeah, it's fine," he lies, but Harry's having none of it. His fingertips pinch hard at Liam's chin. Liam sets his glass on the ground and puts a hand on Harry's waist to keep him from sliding off. 

"It's not. You're out here alone and you have been for a while. It's a _party_ , Liam. You should be inside making friends, not hiding from everyone."

Harry turns his face this way and that and Liam lets him. Lets Harry explore. "Not hiding," he says through pursed lips because Harry's got his palms on either side of Liam's cheeks now, squeezing and smooshing at Liam's face like he's made of the Play-doh Liam constantly has to dig out of the carpet on Beau's floor. 

Harry pats at Liam's cheeks and _this_ is why Liam shouldn't have shaved. "So smooth, how is it so smooth and I still like it as much as when you're all rugged and mountain man and _hot_?" Harry whines, leaning in and rubbing his face against Liam's.

Liam freezes up when he feels Harry's lips at his neck. Harry's strangely obsessed with his birthmark whenever they've done things like this. It's no different now.

Except they're sitting outside a room full of people who, yes, might be Nick and Harry’s friends, and some of them might just be normal people with normal lives. Liam knows there are people from various radio shows and TV stations in there. There are people who still write stuff about Harry and his conquests and what he gets up to outside his so-called "nine to five."

Liam isn't news, hasn't been news since before Ruth and Jeremy, and he likes that. Likes that he had that taste of ridiculous fame with crowds and girls screaming his name and showing him their tits and being harassed from dawn till dusk and more. He's done that, but now he's got three kids who depend on him and he can't have his name in the papers now. Can't drag them with him through the mud.

"Harry," he says, pushing at Harry's chest where he's now straddling Liam's lap. He's nearly grinding above Liam with one hand gripped tightly in Liam's hair and the other on Liam's face, still patting at him like Liam is one of Nick's pups. 

"Liam," Harry says, dragging out his name until it's this gutteral sound. He grabs at Liam's hand and gets it between them, fits it over the shape of Harry's hard cock. "You've got me so hard, Li. You always get me so hard."

 _Christ._

Harry moans and it sends this _want_ all the way down to Liam's toes, even if he doesn't want it to and they can't.

Liam can't.

Harry's pressing up into Liam's hand and no. No. "Harry!" he says a little louder, shoves at Harry hard. Harry tumbles onto the ground with an oof that Liam can hear above the music from inside. Harry's laughing, though, and turns on his side, rubbing at his bum.

"Fuck, Li, I think you broke my bum bone!" he snorts, and repeats the word bum like it's the funniest thing he's heard.

People are looking now, when Liam turns his head, and a few are pointing. Liam has got to stop this. He has to go.

He steps around Harry, ignoring how Harry calls his name; just walks out the door and takes the elevator down. There are cameras out front which means someone obviously called the paps or maybe someone else is around who’s as popular as Harry or something. Liam smiles and waves and says nothing when they ask where Harry is or where his date is. He just finds his car and drives. It was the one consolation of agreeing to go tonight - saying he wanted to take the car in case his mum needed him to get home fast.

He doesn't think about what it means to leave Harry behind. He doesn't think about anything until he gets home and surprises his mum. He doesn't even get a foot over the threshold before he's crumpling in her arms, telling her about how much he's fucked things up.

She hugs him and holds him and tells him in that way that only mums can that things will be fine. She deals with Harry when he comes in the next morning and Liam pretends to be asleep through it all. She looks after the kids when they whine after Harry goes.

He was supposed to stay until the end of January, when he was due to head back to the States so he could start developing his band’s next album.

If Fiona stops talking to Liam for a week because "It's all your fault Harry's gone! You couldn't handle us being _happy_ , could you!" then that's fine. He's dealt with her teenage emotions before. If Sarah just goes quiet, spending more time on her guitar and writing in her song book that Harry bought, then that's sort of a blessing in disguise. She's usually so loud.

Beau's the worst, though. He just points to the picture of all of them meeting Santa at Westfield - Sarah, Fiona, Liam, and Harry with Beau in his arms sitting on Santa's lap - and says Harry's name like it's the only word he knows.

It's better this way. It's better for all of them now that Harry's properly gone.

At least that's what Liam reminds himself when he gets into a cold, empty bed all alone.

 

: : February : :

 

"God, you're such a wet rag! What's going on with you? I've told you all about the hilarity that was the explosion of water and poo in my house this morning and not even a hint of a giggle. Not even a bit of a smile. Liam James Payne, am I . . . not funny anymore?" Nick asks, and he's got his hand on his heart and Liam does smile then.

He's avoided seeing Nick for weeks, knowing that with one look Nick will know exactly what's going on. So he fakes it the best he can.

"Mate, when you've had all three kids and yourself with some shocking version of a tummy bug, stuff coming out both ends, _then_ I'll sympathise with you." He tries for a grin but even he can tell it's not that real.

Nick's face screws up in disgust and only gets worse when Liam offers to give him details.

"Oh no, Liam. You can keep those to yourself. Really, now, what is going on with you? I've seen naught of you and the kids in weeks. Puppy is actually hiding her balls on her own just to make me buy some more." Nick looks genuinely concerned, and this is why Liam didn't want to see Nick. This is why he's avoided Nick's calls and texts and why he's listened to Disney tunes instead of the radio since Harry's been gone.

It has nothing to do with Harry having two singles in the top twenty, which means they're on bloody constant play on BBC1.

"Been busy. The girls are doing great with their counsellor. Fiona seems better; she's got a few girlfriends she doesn't mind bringing round home, and she actually has a kickabout with me when we head down to the park on Sundays. Sarah's sticking with her music class, but she's moved on to bass guitar instead. Beau's babbling away and can say all our names now." He pauses and looks back down at the fruity sweet _thing_ that Nick ordered for him before Liam got in a few minutes late. "He fell over in the park the other day and called out for me."

"Well, that's good," Nick says, looking at Liam like he doesn't see how any of this is a problem. And it's not. Mostly.

"Dad - he called me Dad. Cried it, actually. Howled so loud I think half the park thought he was critically injured." Liam chuckles, trying to make it light, but it's not. It's not and there are tears already spilling down one cheek and this is shit. This is so very, very shit. 

Nick's already reaching across the table, fingertips brushing the back of Liam's hand. "It's not just that, though. Fiona was sitting with him the other night and going through photos on Ruth's iPad and it was just . . . all these pictures of them as a family and there are so few of Beau and his parents, but there's loads of me and Harry with him - and his face. His little face just lit up and you could see he recognised who we were, but his own mum and dad?"

And fuck, he's really crying now and it hurts to breathe. There's this weight on his chest that's been building since last weekend when Beau called him Dad, or maybe the week before when Fiona told him she was so glad he was there, or before that when Harry . . . .

Nick moves around the table and shoves Liam to the side, then slides in and wraps Liam tight in his arms, as best he can. Liam tries to keep the snot sobbing to a minimum, but Nick just holds him, rubbing his back and saying lovely things like, "Let it all out, love," and "You're doing such a great job with them." It just makes things worse.

"Don't," he chokes out, wiping at his cheeks and pulling out of Nick's arms. "I'm not . . . I'm really not."

Nick's still got a hand on Liam's shoulder and he looks like he's ready to argue with Liam some more but Liam won't let him. "I keep making the wrong decisions and I'm so selfish that I've made everything worse than before."

"What? What's worse? You've got the girls doing much better by the sounds, and the baby? I've never known a baby yet not to fall for that amount of curls and charm. It's got to be different for Beau; you're all he has, pet."

Liam knows Nick's trying to make him feel better, but it just makes it worse remembering how good Harry truly was with Beau. Just seemed to know exactly what he wanted or needed without much to go by. Whereas Liam always felt like he needed a dictionary to sort out Beau's sounds. Harry swanned in with his dimpled smile and his easy laugh and his affection that affected them all. All of them.

Christ, he misses Harry so much it’s a physical ache sometimes.

"I miss Harry," he lets slip while his face is mostly squashed into Nick's shoulder. 

Nick pets at his back some more. "I'll bet you do, like a hole in the head. I've witnessed the mess that menace can leave behind in a house. Clothes everywhere but the kitchen, which he gets rather obsessively neat and clean about."

Liam licks his lips and salt and bitterness taint his next words. "I fooled around with him, Nick. I watched how good he was with taking care of all of us, and I let him take care of me. Then I let him go because it wasn't fair to the kids to have him any longer. They need stability and routine and Harry can't do that. He can't always be here."

When Nick speaks next his tone is soft and his hand even lighter on Liam's shoulder. "What about you, though, Liam? Who takes care of you?"

"Me?" Liam laughs, and it's wet and his chest hurts even more. "I'm not a priority anymore, Nick. There is no 'me' in this equation and I have to remember that."

"It's not a bad thing to want help. It doesn’t make you weak or a failure if you do something for yourself—"

"Because fucking round with a mate who isn't even in the country seven out of twelve months of the year seems like such a viable choice, Nick!" he says, pulling out of Nick's hold. Nick's hand is still resting gently at the back of his neck, but Liam's started now and he's on a roll. 

"I'm not like you, I didn't just have a dog when I let Harry into my life. I can't just fuck around with my heart like you did, either! I can't afford to spend five years getting Harry out of my system when he falls for someone else. I don't have the luxury of falling apart like you did. I don't have anyone to pick up the pieces when I've got to be together enough to get the girls to school on time and make sure the baby's got his shots. I just can't be selfish like that. I can't."

Nick is quiet and his hand is still, which just makes Liam feel worse. He shouldn't have said anything. He definitely shouldn't have brought up what Harry and Nick were or any of that, because Nick’s only told him a little and the rest he's figured out in parts. Nick's become his friend through all of this and Liam’s just shoved everything back in his face. He should never have said a word. Should have kept his mistake to himself and moved on. Should have forgotten everything. 

He gets up and walks out and ignores Nick calling his name behind him.

He doesn't need anyone to tell him he's stuffed this up. He knows. 

He also knows he won't do it again.

 

: : March : : 

 

He goes to the graveyard on his own on the anniversary of the accident that changed his life. He takes Ruth's favourite flowers and a can of that shitty lager that Jeremy always used to drink. He sits in the near beautiful silence and talks. 

He tells them all about the kids. About how well they're doing at school and how settled Beau is at the nursery he goes to three times a week when Liam drives them to London so he can work on songwriting with this new band. Simon hooked him up; they're nothing like the people Liam used to work with. They're a little less pop and a little more indie, but they like the words he writes. They love the stuff about love and heartbreak, which is great because it's all Liam has at the moment. 

It's all he might ever have. Memories of loves he had and lost and the incredible ways he's screwed up his life.

He tells them about how Tyler, the lead singer, might have a little bit of a crush on Liam. How he's very touchy-feely and always looking at Liam with these big gray eyes and smiling and blushing like the teen that he is. Then there's the lad who plays piano, Sayid, who has skin like Zayn and eyes like Niall and the temperament of Louis when they first started out. He gets under Liam's skin the most and they argue about _everything_. The other two lads are mostly quiet, and whenever he's with all four of them it almost feels like he can close his eyes and he's back with his boys. Jimmy's even Irish, but he's not quick to laugh or smile like Niall was.

Liam says his goodbyes after checking his watch and noticing he's been there for a lot longer than he thought. He's still got to go and pick up Beau from his mum's, and the girls will be back from school in a few hours. He's dusting off his knees when he hears a voice behind him that he's nearly blocked from his mind for the last few months.

"Hi." 

One word and Liam's chest is seizing up.

Of course Harry's here.

"Hi," Liam answers, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket, wrapping his fingers around Beau's favourite dummy that he hasn't used for months but he loves to carry around.

"Your mum said you'd be here." Harry's biting at his lip and his hair is shorter, less ringlets and more soft curls around his forehead. He looks . . . he looks lovely. He looks really lovely in his regular black skinny jeans and some designer tan suede jacket that he's probably had forever. He looks lovely and Liam is actually dressed nicely for a change, compared to every other time Harry's surprised him with a visit. He'd been out having an early lunch with Andrew, who he'd met at the party where he'd run out on Harry. He and Marta, Andrew's wife, have somewhat become a part of Liam and the kids’ lives now, which is nice.

At least _something_ good came out of that night.

"Big year, yeah?" Harry says, nodding at the headstones, and Liam nods. It has been. Not just for him but for Ruth and Jeremy's kids. For all of them.

"What are you doing here?" Liam asks when the silence between them feels like a tension you could snap with the lightest touch. He hates how it feels awkward between them. A fact Liam knows he caused himself.

"I came for you. I knew what day it was and I was in the country for . . . no. I told myself I was going to do this proper, and I can't start on a lie." Harry moves so he's standing in front of Liam, not too close but close enough that he's got Liam's full attention. His clear green eyes look straight into Liam's and there's a set to his lips that Liam knows means Harry's got something important to say.

It can't hurt to listen.

"I came because I knew what day it was and I wanted to be here for you. I know I did something wrong at New Year’s and I've let you have space. I let you be on your own because I felt stupid about what I did, knowing you weren't ready and that it was a bit too much."

Liam snorts. "Groping me at some party where I knew no one and there were fucking cameras downstairs wasn't the best move, Harry. It's not just me I have to think about if things get out to the press. There are children involved."

"I know," Harry says, wincing at Liam's words. "I know that and I did then but I was just so - so into trying to make you forget for a moment who you were and see what you could have that I forgot. I'd never want the children to be hurt by the crap that goes on in the press. At least I'd try hard not to."

Liam shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair that he actually made an effort to style at four this morning before anyone had woken up. "That's the thing, though, Harry. You can try all you want but you can't stop them. You can't stop people writing things or saying things. You can't stop all of the media everywhere. People are still going to get hurt."

"I get that, Li. I do," Harry says, taking a step closer, and Liam's stomach twists. He doesn't know what to do with all of this. "I don't think I ever was specific in what I wanted every time I came back to you and your house full of sound. I should have been more honest from the start." 

Harry is looking at him and Liam's struck by how much he's _missed_ seeing Harry, listening to him talk to the girls and the way he sings Beau to sleep. He's _missed_ him so much ,and now Harry's right here and Liam just _wants_. He squeezes his hands into tight fists in his pockets, quelling the need to reach out and touch. He can't and he won't. He'll listen. That's enough.

"I just - I want to be with you. I want to be there for you however you want. If it's as a friend, then I can do that; but if it's more, you can have that, too. I want to be there for you, to help you." He smiles and he looks nervous, fingers twitching at his sides, and Liam is shocked silent by the sincerity of Harry's tone. He takes another step and Liam freezes up. Harry's so close and he's offering so much.

"I want _you_. I want to be a part of your life again. I've had the best times when I've been with you and the kids, and I want that. I want to come home and for it be to you and your life and me becoming a part of that, as much or as little as you want."

This isn't what Liam expected. He's being offered the world on a platter and he doesn't know if he can have it all or just a slice but he knows what he _would_ choose if it were just him. Just his life he had to take a chance on.

But it's not.

"Harry," Liam says, and he shakes his head. But Harry's right there now, smack bang in Liam's face and whispering for him to just wait a moment. Then he kisses Liam all tender and soft and Liam falls into it. Just for a moment. Just a taste of what he could have. He deserves that much.

He eases Harry back, pushing on Harry's shoulders, and Harry's eyes stay closed until Liam's hands drop.

"I can't. I have these children to think about, Harry. They need stability and routine and to know that when they come home there's always going to be someone there. They need me, not the me who might get so wrapped up in a relationship he'll forget all about them. I can't be the man who lets you sleep in his bed when Sarah still comes in to me when she has a nightmare. I can't have you kissing me in the kitchen when Fiona's at the age when she knows what kissing can lead to between two adults. I can't have you fucking around with Beau anymore. He doesn't understand that when you leave, you will eventually be back. He's lost two people in his life already; he doesn't need to deal with another one just popping up every now and then, only to break his heart."

Harry raises his chin and his eyes are filled with tears that with a blink will fall down his cheeks. Liam's seen it happen before. It tugs at his heart but he has to do this. He has to make this break clean - not just for himself but for Harry, so he knows exactly where he stands.

"And what about you - who gets to be there for you when you're doing all of this for them? Who gets to look after _you_ , Li?"

Liam laughs and it hurts his chest but he can't let Harry see how much. "I'll be fine. I don't get to come first anymore, Harry. It's all about them. I'm last."

Harry takes a step forward, but Liam shifts away. He can't let Harry get close again. He can't. Harry's face falls and he looks like Liam's done a lot worse than just turn him down. He takes this deep, shuddering breath and then stands taller. Looks a lot more certain than he was before.

"I'll show you we can make this work, Li. There are plenty of couples in the spotlight who've had a family and jobs like mine. It's not easy, but nothing good ever is."

Harry's eyes are steely. Liam had forgotten how stubborn Harry could be. The words are leaving his mouth before he even thinks about how sharp they are.

"That's the thing, though, Haz. We never were a couple in this. We've never been anything from the start."

Harry shrinks and Liam uses that as his chance to leave, to walk past Harry and down the hill toward his car. He hates himself with every step and he blinks back tears he refuses to shed. He gets about halfway down when Harry calls his name. Liam stops but doesn't turn around.

"I'll show you, Li. I'll show you how easy it could be, if you'd just let us try. I'll show you we can make this work."

Liam doesn't answer, just shakes his head once and manages to get to the car. He starts it and drives off in the wrong direction for his mum's, but if it gets him away from Harry and his well-meant words, well then, that's enough.

 

: : April : :

 

Harry's at the house. 

He's almost _never_ not there, actually. He takes the kids out and he comes by every day when he can, lets Liam and the children know when he can't. He makes dinner when Liam's busy in town and is there for family roast dinners on the weekend, with Liam's mum and dad. He takes Sarah to music and asks Liam before taking her into the studio for the weekend and she comes home with a shiny CD of her _own_ music and a smile from ear to ear, harping on about how much she loves Uncle Harry, she does. 

He takes Fiona to her therapy sessions when Liam can't and he even makes a booking for _himself_ to ask about the effect his being in and out of their lives may have. He tells Liam all about it over a lunch that he books when he knows Liam's in London with the band, and he doesn't attempt to flirt or be anything other than professional about it all. It's a bit odd, but when he asks Liam to lunch the next week and Liam says no because he genuinely doesn't have the time, Harry drops food by but doesn't stay except to give a wave to the band, then he disappears as fast as he came. 

Beau . . . well, Harry deals with Beau a little differently than before. He looks after Beau once a week, gives Liam time to take Fiona and Sarah out on their own. He makes a big deal of talking to Beau about when he's going and for how long. Fuck if Liam knows whether Beau truly understands, but when Harry leaves to fly back to the States for some recording for a month, Beau doesn't seem to be too worried. The first few days he calls Harry's name around the house but he doesn't seem as upset as before. 

It's strange: when Harry's there it's like he's always been there, and when he's gone the house still runs like it did before. 

Liam misses him, but a little less. 

Mostly because he knows that Harry will return.

What that means Liam doesn't like to ponder on much at all. 

 

: : June : :

 

It's June and Harry's still around. 

Liam's got so used to having him drop in and just _be_ that he's genuinely a bit sad when Harry tells him over lunch that he's going on tour the next month. Nothing long, just a few months, and with breaks in between when he'll come back. 

Harry bought a house close by last month. It's not huge or grand but it's a decent size with bedrooms that Liam knows he's chosen with the children in mind. It's private and it's out of the way. They've not all been over there yet, but Liam has. 

After he had a bit of a meltdown to Nick about it - they'd made up when Liam had gone over, expensive bottle of wine in hand as well as apologies falling from his lips over and over - Nick had told him to buck up. That it was Harry's choice and Liam could either be a good friend to Harry and help him out or he could do naught but sit and whine. Liam helped. He drove the car around town while Harry looked for a place. Harry was right when he said he might as well buy somewhere close considering Wolverhampton was where he spent half his time. It would save him driving back to the townhouse in Kensington, too, which wasn't exactly the shortest of drives. 

Because Harry has property, he's always invested that way. Liam has, too, but not in places where he can actually live. His has always been rented out or sold on. It's always given him a cushion over the years; it never mattered before and it doesn't now. He's never thought about uprooting the children from their home, not when there's so much of Jeremy and Ruth in every mismatched piece of wallpaper, the stain on the floor in the bathroom from when Ruth was trying her hand at dyeing the sheets for their bed. It's their home and it's probably a good thing Harry has one close by. Just so the kids don't worry about him driving all that way in the dark anymore.

In truth, it'll stop Liam worrying, too. Stop the words sitting at the tip of his tongue asking Harry to stay when it's getting dark or they've gone all gone out to dinner and it's later than Liam thought.

"Promise me you'll answer my calls this time," Harry says after they split the bill and they're standing at Liam's car, Harry having parked a little further down the road. It's quiet for a Thursday afternoon, hardly anyone in the street and even the cafe they went to only had three girls ask for Harry's photo. 

Liam didn't think they even knew who he was.

"Please, Li. Don't shut me out like you did before. I've tried so hard to be what you needed and I think I've done pretty well." He smiles and Liam rolls his eyes and tries to bite down on an answering grin of his own. 

Harry has done, is the thing. He's been there and he's helped and he's shown Liam that he can do all of that and handle the press at the same time. There were a few articles about him hanging around at Liam's house, and when a few paps tried to question Fiona at her school he quietly paid them off and then took up security measures with the school all before Liam even knew anything had occurred. 

He's proven himself to be a person Liam can have in his life, in the kids’ lives.

But Liam still isn't sure about his heart.

"I will. I don't think the girls would let me ignore you this time," he replies honestly, because he had this conversation with Fiona a few nights before. She already knew Harry had a tour coming up, having somehow seen it on his phone. 

More likely snooping for Harry's guitarist’s phone number, now that Ronan's not the flavour of the month. Ben's the youngest in Harry's band but still has fifteen years or so on Fiona. Still, it's fine because Ben's nearly always in LA and he has a girlfriend from before the band was even formed. Sometimes Liam wishes Ronan was still around.

"Now give us a hug before I go," Harry says, and he's smiling properly, a little bit of nerves showing in the extra blinks of his eyes.

Liam doesn't hesitate, because mates hug. Mates hug all the time.

Mates don't usually kiss their mates on the cheek a little too close to their mouth in goodbye and then jog off before said mate can say a word.

But that's what Harry does, only stopping near the top of the road to turn and wave Liam a final goodbye.

Cheeky sod.

Still, Liam answers his calls and even makes some of his own. Most of the time they talk about their day and the kids and Harry talks about the shit and fun things about being on the road. 

Sometimes they don't talk at all. Harry spends an hour listening to the girls or playing with Beau, who's finally figured out that Harry's not hiding behind the iPad screen like a mirror. He still pats at Harrys face and kisses his onscreen lips like Harry can feel it on the other side.

If Liam tears up a little at that, well . . . no one needs to know.

 

: : August : : 

 

Harry comes home for Liam's birthday. A quick fly in and back out because he's due on stage the next day in Spain, but he makes the effort. They all go out to dinner and Harry doesn't spend the night.

Liam lies awake in his bed and thinks about Harry until the dawn. 

 

: : November : :

 

It's November and Harry's in some hotel room in Sydney because they're doing a few shows on Australia's east coast. He's tired and Liam's been up all the previous night with Beau, who's going through the terrible twos early and just will not _sleep_ if he doesn't have a particular penguin toy that Harry sent over from somewhere in Canada. 

He's a bit grumpy and Harry's zoning out all the time because he's just as buggered with jet lag, even though he's been there a week now.

Harry's talking about food that he misses and how even in Australia, a bloody colony, there's still no decent tea. Liam laughs and this feeling wells in his chest. It's been there for a while now. It's been there for so long and Liam's tried to ignore it, but that hasn't worked out too well.

It probably never went away at all.

"Are you coming home after this tour?" he asks, and Harry shrugs, looking sadder than before.

"I don't know. I don't even know where home is anymore." 

Liam swallows hard and his palms feel sweaty where he's holding the iPad up just to see Harry better. 

"Home," Liam says again. "Here, you idiot," he adds, and hopes Harry might not hear how those last two words mean something a little more. Liam's not even sure he can admit to himself that there's a lot more fondness behind that expression than anything else.

Harry blinks and looks at Liam with a tilt to his head. A few kiss curls by his forehead have escaped the silly ponytail on top of his head and are coming free. Liam wants to touch and hates that there's so much time and space between them.

He's taking such a chance on this and he's ready. Well. He thinks he is.

"Here - I mean there?" Harry asks and rubs at his eyes, blinking away the green that Liam dreams about, that Liam loves to see. 

"Yes."

"To you?" Harry asks, and he sounds hopeful, so _hopeful_ , and Liam's grin is actually hurting his cheeks.

"Yes, to me. To us."

Harry nods but stays quiet and . . . shit. Maybe Liam read this wrong. Maybe Harry doesn't want this anymore and he's happy with how things have been. Maybe he's met some gorgeous thing in Australia or Egypt or wherever the fuck he's performed and he really only _does_ want to help Liam with the kids. Maybe Liam doesn't matter anymore.

"Okay," Harry says, rolling off the bed and out of the frame, and Liam's heart sinks down into the depths of his gut. 

This wasn't how he saw this going at all. Not that he'd imagined Harry being more in his life. Not that he hadn't imagined waking up to Harry in his bed or making breakfast for them all or opening the door to Harry to stay. Not that those images hadn't run rampant through his mind since Harry kissed him goodbye after Liam's birthday dinner. 

He hadn't given it any thought at all, no.

Harry's gone for longer and longer. Then he's back on the bed and he's smiling and Liam doesn't know what to do with that. Liam spots the phone at Harry's ear and - oh.

"Yeah, hi, I need a ticket on the next flight you have to London. I don't care about the cost. I need to get home."

 

: : : :

 

Liam and the kids meet Harry at the airport. They're all loud and there are definitely photos taken, but Liam finds he doesn't care all that much.

Not when he's got Sarah's hand in one of his and Harry's in the other, Harry who's got Beau in his other arm. Fiona's in front pushing the trolley with Harry's luggage, a smile from ear to ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said this would be two parts but THEY NEED A EP ~~SEX~~ ILOGUE and i'm nearly done with that so.. three parts xx


	3. Chapter 3

**PART THREE**

 

: : December : :

He's got flour in his hair, and there's gunk on his chest from before when he had Beau helping beat the cream for the trifle. Beau had lifted the beaters out early, and Liam wasn’t prepared. It had taken him nearly an extra hour to get it down from the ceiling while Beau cackled somewhere below on the floor.

He's hunting high and low for another packet of jelly when he hears the door and familiar voices arguing. He'd smile if he weren't stuck in the back of the cupboard. Liam just has to hope that Beau's still busy in the living room with the little drum kit Harry found for him a week ago at a garage sale - or so he says. Liam's fairly certain he saw a price tag for a moment before Harry ripped it off. Considering how quiet it is, Beau's probably not anywhere near the drums now. All in all, with the "help" Beau's given him it's not the best start to preparing their first combined family Christmas lunch.

Harry's idea, of course. He's just had the girls out, getting a few last minute things because Anne and Robin are coming as well as Gemma and her husband and their two.

Liam's kitchen isn't really big enough to cook all the food he needs to, but he compromised on cooking here and setting it all up at Harry's house. Mostly because Harry's got two dishwashers and Liam really hates washing up. Plus Harry's house is actually big enough to hold them all. Cooking there just seemed a step too far.

Liam does have to have some sort of control, after all.

Beau must have heard Harry come in because he's whining Harry's name in that way he does when Harry's not paying him all the attention in the world. The girls are bickering over something, which sounds like Fiona's had enough of her sister in their three-hour shopping trip involving the last minute groceries to get this lunch done. They all end up in the kitchen, and Liam gets a quick press of Harry's lips on his cheek as a hello and a "Like what you've done with the place" that Liam squawks about. He doesn't get a word in because Beau's thrown himself down on the floor, screaming. He's hit the terrible twos early and Harry's learning just what that means with regard to Beau not getting exactly what he wants. And what he wants is Harry, who currently has arms full of foodstuffs that need putting in the pantry and fridge.

Fiona and Sarah disappear and the noise level drops to a dull roar once Harry's finished packing everything away. He kneels down beside Beau, counting backwards from five and doing that thing where he acknowledges Beau's emotions and feelings and telling Beau his own. It's a little strange, but it seems to pull Beau out of his fits. Liam's had to deal with them for the month before Harry came home on his own, so he's willing to try anything as long as it works.

They disappear after a bit, Beau snuggling into Harry's arms. Harry declares he's giving them both a bath. It's nice, the relative quiet, as Liam finishes the bits of the trifle he can do and gets the jelly in to set once more. He's just about done stuffing the turkey when his two girls come around the corner, bickering once more.

"He is."

"He's not," Fiona retorts with a snort, and Liam hears the fridge door open. They're still bickering when the beeping starts from the door being open too long.

Harry's voice calls down that "She should think about what she wants before opening it," and Liam snorts. Harry really does sound so much like Liam himself sometimes that it's laughable. Liam pours himself a nice glass of red, something he can indulge in now that all the prep work is nearly complete and everyone is at home.

"He _is_ ," Sarah says, the strength behind her words making Liam look up, hoping he doesn't have to break up any hair-pulling like he did a few weeks ago when there were arguments about a shirt that Liam _knew_ didn't belong to Sarah. Though Sarah argued black and blue for three days after that it was definitely hers.

He's really not looking forward to her teenage years at all.

"Uncle Li," Sarah says, her eyes all innocent as she looks up at him, arms crossed across her dressing gown. "Is Uncle Harry your boyfriend now?"

Fiona rolls her eyes, closing the fridge door and leaning up against it, arms crossed in the same fashion as Sarah. She looks just as serious. Sometimes the family resemblance is a little too much.

"Of course he's not. Uncle Liam hasn't even taken Harry out on a date; how can he be?"

Liam's eyes might go comically wide and he splutters the sip of red wine he's just taken across the kitchen floor.

"We know you're something," Sarah says, taking a step toward Liam with Fiona following at her side. "You sleep in the same bed."

"You kiss. A lot," Fiona adds, taking another step, and Liam's nearly backed against the sink now.

How does he always find himself pinned to the sink?

"And we're fine with that," Sarah says with a nod, looking up at her older sister.

"We love Harry, and we love you, and we want you happy. Both of you," Fiona finishes. Liam doesn't really like where this is going but it's nice to know they don't find it weird or anything. Liam and Harry doing whatever it is they're mostly officially doing.

Which, again, is what tomorrow is also for.

Liam's family already know and so do Harry's. Liam had a rather scary talk with Gemma last week when she dropped by the studio to have "a chat." A chat being the nicest way to put how she basically threatened to cut off his balls and feed them to Nick's dog's if he ever hurt her brother again or prevented him from being near those three kids he loved.

It was rather funny how Nick's dogs always featured in threats to anyone.

Considering how placid Puppy 2 and Lancelot were. They'd both lick you to death before they did anything else.

"We've talked it over and Nanny said she'd have Beau for the day. You're both free next Tuesday, and Sarah and I can look after ourselves at home. You could even get Mrs. MacIntosh to come check on us."

Liam shakes his head, barely containing a shudder at the thought. "No, there'll be no need for that. Marissa isn't stepping one foot in our house again," he says, remembering how he caught her in their laundry sniffing his _socks_ , of all things, when he finally caved and had a Tupperware party just after his birthday earlier in the year.

"We could even have Nanny here if you want. But Grandad likes having her at home and he _loves_ Beau, and we promise we'd be good. We'll not answer the door, we'll just watch movies and I'll practice my guitar and Fiona can draw - we'll be so good!" Sarah adds. She actually sounds like she's _begging_ Liam to do this.

"Please, Uncle Li. Please take Uncle Harry out properly so we can tell everyone he's your boyfriend now," they say together, and this bit _definitely_ feels planned. He really shouldn't have let them spend last weekend with Nick and David and the dogs on their own.

Nick's been at him to make an honest man out of Harry ever since he talked to Nick about how _bad_ it could possibly be coming out again like this into the media spotlight.

Nick was writing up several kinds of press releases before Liam had finished speaking. He'd offered _graciously_ to be their first interview after, if they wanted.

This definitely has Nick written all over it. Somewhat helpful yet sneaky bastard.

"Please!" they say again, batting their lashes, and that's all Harry right there, so what else can Liam do?

"I'll ask him," Liam says, and they're so busy squealing and planning what Harry and Liam are going to wear that he doesn't have the heart to tell them that Nick will be watching them. It's his idea; he and David can have fun with three children and their two bloody dogs.

Which is how, the very next Tuesday a little after ten, Liam and Harry leave Nick and David's place with a cacophony of sound behind their heavy front door. 

They head out to a little caf they visit whenever they're both in London. It's nice and private and before the lunch rush, so they manage to get a table that's somewhat secluded. They don't talk much, but Liam knows he's nervous for some stupid reason so he imagines Harry is, too.

They order and then it's quiet again between them. Liam sips at his water so often he's going to have to go to the bloody loo soon. Harry and Liam's phones shriek with incoming texts, startling them both. They're both in fits a second later when they see they've been sent identical photos. Fiona's obviously taken them and sent them from her phone. Nick's standing in front of a pile of sick that Beau is poking at and Puppy 2 has her tongue rolled out, about to lick it up. David's got his hand over his mouth, looking green, and Sarah is bent over in obvious giggles.

Liam knew it wasn't the best idea to let Beau get into the sweets jar before they left. He might have left it down at Beau's level . . . purely by accident.

He might have ignored how many handfuls Beau had before he took the jar away.

He's allowed to punish Nick a little for pushing this, after all.

He would have taken Harry out in his own time. He would have. It's just . . . they've not done anything since Harry came home. They've snogged, yeah, when the kids were all asleep; and they end up curled up together on the sofa when whatever they've been watching finishes up. They snog and there's been a bit of grinding, but Harry always has to go home.

Liam's been wondering if Harry really does want him at all.

Which is why when the words fall out of his mouth once their meals hit the table and the waiter buggers off, they aren't as surprising as they could be.

"Are you happy with this?" Liam asks, putting down his fork. He hasn't even had a bit of his lasagne yet but he just - he needs to know.

"This?" Harry raises a brow, swirling his fork to get his spaghetti around. "Dunno, haven't had a bite yet, have I?"

"No," Liam says, shaking his head, ignoring the tremble in his voice, "Us. I mean, I know you love being at home with the kids, and they adore you. But . . . us. Like, you and me. I never asked if you wanted . . . if you wanting me was still on the table." Liam finishes and he's wiping his hands on his pants. He hasn't been this nervous in so long. This is possibly even worse than when he waited that very first time to hear from Simon whether he'd got through past Judges Houses and he hadn't done.

Christ, he hopes this doesn't go as badly as that. 

Then again, when he came back he got Harry and the lads, so maybe it won't?

Harry's fork is loud as it hits his plate, and Liam looks up from his staring competition with a dark patch of cheese melted on the top of his food. "Liam, of course I want you. You . . . you want me too, right? There's a reason we're on this date thing and it's not just to make your girls and our idiot friends happy, is it? I haven't read this wrong?"

Liam reaches over then and takes Harry's hand. "No, no! Not at all! It's just, you always go home and you never stay even when, you know, we get all bothered and hot. You just - you _leave_." 

Liam's cheeks must be on fire. Harry's looking at him like he's a nutter. This probably was not the date the others thought Liam was taking Harry on. A nice meal, they said. Maybe a movie after.

Liam wants to go home.

"Liam, I leave because I don't think it's a good idea to get our cocks out on a sofa that your nieces sit on. I leave because Beau gets up in the middle of the night and crawls into your bed and I can _not_ be naked beside you with come on the sheets if he does. I leave because I want to be loud with you and I want to hear you the first time I get you to come on my cock."

Liam's not blushing anymore, no. There's no blood left to rush anywhere but between his legs while Harry just _stares_ at him, licking slowly over his lips so they're shiny and red, and _fuck_.

"There's a hotel just up the road from here. I'm pretty sure they do early check-in. Even if they don't, I've got a bit of extra cash on me that might change their mind." 

Liam's already up and out of the chair as he says this, throwing far too much money on the table before Harry's got a chance to get his wallet out.

 

: : : :

 

The hotel does do early check-ins and they _do_ give Harry and Liam a strange look when they book in with no luggage. Probably more so with the way Harry won't unglue himself from Liam's back. Or perhaps how he keeps kissing Liam's neck, even when Liam pushes him off.

They barely make it in the door when Harry's got Liam up against a wall, their legs entwined. He's got one hand threaded tight in Liam's hair, the other at his belt buckle, trying in vain to get the thing undone.

"Slow," Liam stutters, because Harry's like an octopus. He's _everywhere_ and Liam wants, yeah, but he also wants to remember it. To take it slow.

"God help me, Liam Payne, I've gone home every night for over a month with a stiffy that could break glass. I've woken up hard and got off in the shower every day before I came over to make breakfast with your kids, or when I did sleep at yours it was the world’s quickest wank in your bloody bath." He's got Liam's pants down now and Liam didn’t even feel him take his belt and jeans off.

"I'll take it slow the second time we do this, which might be today because we're not _that_ old and I've not touched myself since you asked me out and I just—" He pauses and he's on his knees, looking up at Liam. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are so dark.

"I just really want to get you off." 

He's so serious and he's so lovely that Liam can't help putting his hand down, running his fingers through Harry's hair and cupping his jaw.

"On the bed then, you idiot," Liam says, and Harry groans, pressing his lips to Liam's palm.

But he does get up. 

It gives Liam time to get the rest of his kit off and laugh a little at Harry still trying to be as fast as possible, ending up with his head stuck in his shirt. It's when he falls over thin air trying to get his boots off that Liam falls back, naked, onto the bed and laughs.

He doesn't remember sex ever being this fun. Ever laughing this much.

Then again, the last time he had proper sex in a bed was with a woman he isn't sure he ever truly loved. Not like this. Not like whatever he's built up with Harry over the past few years. Maybe since the beginning without even knowing it at all.

Harry gets up at the bottom of the bed, naked as the day he was born and cock already bobbing in front of him. Liam had forgotten what a pretty cock Harry has. He never really got to see it when they'd got off in the dark before; it’s sort of intimidating thinking he'll actually be putting that inside his body. It's been even longer since he's done anything like that. Even then it was just his fingers, or occasionally Sophia's thumb, if she was feeling generous. She wasn't like that much.

Harry's got a hand on Liam's ankle, stroking over the bone there and the screw that all of them have - even Niall when he turned thirty caved and got one. Memories and all that, he'd claimed. It makes Liam smile. Maybe they should all get back in touch. Get the lads together and introduce all of their kids to people who at one time meant more to each other than anything else in the world. Maybe he'll even find Louis' number and give him a call. Maybe it's been long enough that Louis might even answer.

"Where are you? I'm here naked and got my cock out and you're . . . somewhere else. That's not a very nice way to treat your boyfriend," Harry says, and there's this humour behind it that has Liam kicking out and Harry toppling onto the bed, mostly getting his belly on Liam's knee, which has to hurt.

"And physical violence at that," Harry says, a little winded as he sits up. He's smiling, though, and Liam grins in return. He’s got his hand around the base of his cock and is stroking slowly. It's enough to make Harry's eyes glaze over and that’s what Liam hoped for: distraction in the form of things Harry wants.

He reaches his free hand over to the pillow beside him where before, when Harry was nearly braining himself getting undressed, Liam had set up the condoms and lube they'd giggled about buying at a little chemist near the hotel. 

It stops Harry's sort of vacant blinking when Liam holds them up. "Would a bad boyfriend forget to get these out?"

Harry shakes his head no and gets on all fours, kissing Liam hard and fast before Liam can say any more. He relaxes his body down between Liam's legs and they kiss and grind lazily against each other until Liam's feeling all sticky on his stomach from the amount of precome they're both wet with. Harry nips at Liam's lips once more, leaving Liam breathless as Harry bites marks down Liam's chest, tongue flicking out and over each nipple. He sucks a dark mark just to the left of Liam's bellybutton and Liam's brain is about to short out if Harry doesn't get his mouth on Liam's cock.

"Gonna get you ready for me," Harry says, his voice rough and his eyes these near-black pools of want when he looks up at Liam, his lips just shy of the tip of Liam's cock where it's bobbing away with nothing to touch. Liam gets two fistsfulls of the sheets they're lying on just in time for Harry to spread Liam's legs. His tongue traces a long, wet path from under Liam's bollocks to where his skin is furled tight. 

"Relax," Harry whispers, but it's more of a groan as he slides his hand under Liam's thigh and fits it over his shoulder before spreading Liam further apart. Liam's eyes slam shut and his mouth falls open, a curse or two leaving his lips when Harry gets his tongue between Liam's legs and just licks like it's the best thing he's ever done. Harry takes Liam apart little by little. Soft swirls and hard punches with the tip of his tongue until Liam's writhing and he's not entirely sure he couldn't just come like this, from Harry's mouth on his hole alone.

Harry fits one finger inside him and then another, scissoring them this way and that, and combined with the hot press of his tongue Liam's sure he's going to fall apart. He's going to shatter into a million pieces and Harry will have to explain all of this to the children and to Nick. Then again, Nick would probably laugh and say that Liam couldn't have gone any better way than on the talents of a certain popstar’s tongue.

He grinds out Harry's name between his clamped teeth when Harry gets a third finger in there and really starts fucking into Liam with them. Liam's so hard. He's so close to coming and he sort of remembers Harry saying something about his cock and putting it inside Liam and making Liam be loud?

Harry eventually slides his fingers out and it's loud and obscenely wet, but Liam doesn't care. He sits up faster than he thought he could, one hand at the back of Harry's skull as he pulls him in and gets to taste the combined flavour of lube and his arse on Harry's tongue. It's not that pleasant, but kissing Harry always has been. He concentrates on that until Harry's all he can taste and Harry's nearly humping his leg for something to rub his dick on. 

Right. Fucking. They were doing that. 

Liam pushes Harry to the mattress and knocks Harry's hand out of the way when he attempts to fit the condom on. "Being a good boyfriend, remember?" Liam says, eyes squinting as he tries to get it right, get the bloody thing on with hands shaking so bad it's like he's losing his virginity to Dani all over again. That went pretty well the first time so he's hoping this won't be too bad, either. 

Liam really does need to stop thinking about his ex's while he's with the man he's stupidly in love with. Especially when said man is laughing at him and flicking the condom Liam had a ridiculous amount of air still in the top of, to the other side of the room. He watches as Harry bites at his lip, pink skin turning white from the effort it takes to get a new condom on, properly this time. 

"C'mon now." He pats at Liam's thigh and Harry's stomach is trembling, the ink there shifting so it looks like the moth's wings are beating, like the ferns at his hips are shaking in an unseen breeze. "It'll be better for you if you're on your back."

Liam shakes his head. "I remember you saying something about me being loud as you made me come on your cock." He shifts up and over Harry then, gets his body lined up. He's ready for this. If not, he's a fast learner. Harry just needs to show him the ropes.

"Okay," Harry says, not looking entirely sure, but the concern in his eyes fades away the moment Liam gets a hand around the base of his cock. His eyes close completely when Liam finally catches the tip of his rim and oh. _Oh._

It feels like Harry's splitting him apart.

He hasn't even put that much of Harry inside yet, but Harry's a lot bigger than he looks. Liam’s own cock is flagging, but he’s nothing if not determined. It's a trait he and Harry share, so it shouldn't be surprising when he feels Harry's hand between his legs. Harry pushes up with his knuckles on Liam's thigh and then there's more cold lube at Liam's hole. Harry's breath turns shaky as he slips more down on himself. They're making a mess, but it's not theirs to clean up so Liam doesn't mind too much.

He lines Harry up again and this time it's a lot easier. Harry's talking him through it, eyes closed again but his lips are moving, his voice barely a hint louder than the sound of his breath leaving his lungs. He whispers how good it feels and Liam's being so good at taking it slow. Taking all of him. That he loves Liam. He loves him so much.

Liam's in tears by the time he's fully seated and it's not because it hurts, because it does a little, but in that way that Liam knows is going to feel better sooner rather than later. He's got tears on his cheeks and when Harry finally does open his eyes, he pulls himself up from the bed, bent nearly in half just to wipe at Liam's cheeks with his thumb.

His green eyes are so filled with concern and Liam knows what he's going to ask before he does, so he interrupts. "It's fine, you feel fine. I just - you’re . . . I . . . ."

Harry pushes up that little bit and it makes him fill up Liam that little bit more. But it's good. Really good. Liam's definitely ready to move now. 

"You're an idiot," Harry says, and it's the I love you that Liam was waiting for. 

"You're the idiot," he says in return when he figures out how to lift himself up and rock back down. It's feeling much more on the good than the hurty side now. More so when Liam works out a rhythm that also involves being able to kiss Harry; he thinks there might not be anything more perfect than what they have right now.

Then Harry shifts his hips and Liam sees stars.

Well then. There's that, too.

They shift and move and kiss and touch and Harry finally touches Liam's cock that's filled back up somewhere in between all of that. He feels so good from the very ends of the hair on his head to the tips of his toes, and it's only getting better. His body feels more and more filled with this exquisite pleasure and he really is kicking himself that they have never done this before.

Harry's still whispering all these lovely things and Liam kisses him each time he does. His lips are sore and they're going to be a mess later, but he can't stop seeking out Harry's mouth. He breathes when Harry sucks at the tender skin over Liam's pulse at his neck. He maps the feel of Harry's skin beneath his fingertips, commits to memory how Harry reacts when Liam shifts a certain way. It's all building and building and he can hear that Harry's close. Knows it when Harry tells him, teeth pressing lightly into the juncture of Liam's neck and shoulder.

When he comes, it's loud and it's gutteral and he almost sounds like an animal.

Harry tells him that later, much later, when they've had a nap and Harry's sucked Liam's cock and Liam's got his fingers in Harry, breaking him apart with two fingers and a thumb. Liam tells Harry he makes a weird face when he gets off, which is sort of true, but Liam kind of likes it when he does.

They come again in the shower, cleaning up a little around the time they were supposed to be collecting the children.

Liam convinces Harry to text David and say he owes them one. 

Harry's packed the girls and Beau's pyjama's in their little playbag anyway.

Apparently someone was hoping for something a little like this to happen.

They nearly sleep through checkout the next morning and they still manage to get home, get off again on the bed while Liam's trying to get changed to head _back_ in to pick up the kids.

Harry's smile as he pushes Liam to the bed, saying Nick won't mind if they get there after lunch, has Liam reaching up to pull Harry down with him.

So they'll owe Nick and David a little bit more. What does it matter when Liam's got a boyfriend now?

 

: : March . . . again : :

 

It's their last family holiday together. Forgive Liam if he's getting a bit emotional about it. Fiona's in her last year of college and he had to cajole her with how good it would be to have a tan before everyone else does to get her to come this time. He doesn't imagine she'll be wanting to go with them all again once she starts University. Especially if she ends up in New York like she wants.

He's fairly certain she will. There's not much Fiona can't do if she puts her mind to it, and if she wants to go study art in America, then she'll be doing that. Liam's sure.

Sarah pretends she doesn't know them, big glasses on that match an even bigger hat as she lies on her towel a ways down the beach. Liam lets her, though Harry's been down there shaking the water out of his hair a few dozen times so it's pretty obvious which family she belongs to. 

Beau's in the water with Harry which is nothing unusual. Beau's taken to water much like Liam did when he was young. He's been begging Liam to teach him how to surf, but Harry thinks he's too young and Liam agrees.

It didn't stop him from buying Beau a small board to practice on, though, did it?

Fiona blows him a kiss as she makes her way up the beach with Beau's hand in hers. She's so very tall and fills the navy and white striped bikini that Lux helped her pick out well. Liam hates how old that makes him feel, his niece looking more like a woman than the baby whose dirty nappies he used to get up and change. 

"Just taking him up for a bit of lunch," she pauses, mouthing, "and a nap," before moving on. She's still the best at looking after her little brother. Even now, when he doesn't really need that much taking care of. She's probably going to be on the phone to Ronan discussing something. They're friends again this year after an epic breakup to end all breakups the year before. Liam thinks it might be the end properly this time. Harry still holds out hope.

It's as if Harry knows he's thinking about him when he comes sauntering up the beach, shaking his bloody curls out on Liam's sun-warm skin like a dog. Liam yells at him to get off but he's smiling as much as Harry is when Harry lies mostly on top of Liam. Harry's head is heavy on Liam's chest as Liam's hand run over the cool wet of Harry's spine. Liam can just make out the constellation of stars there, two big and three small. Their family and the ones that gave them that, inked forever on his skin. Liam has the same in black over his own back. Fiona wants to get something similar but a bit more dainty at her hip or on the small of her back or her ankle. She hasn't decided yet, but she's told Liam she's getting two extra stars: one for him and one for Harry, the two who became her parents just as much as her dad and mum were.

Liam pushes him off and Harry rolls to the side, shading his eyes from the sun with his forearm. Harry's breathing hard and Liam wonders how many more years Harry can pretend that he's still as fit as he was in his twenties. Just when he'll realise that he can't quite run around after Beau like he did in his thirties, either. 

Christ, they're getting _old_.

"I can hear you thinking. I am bloody fit. Outran that boy that was perving on our Sarah this morning, didn't I?" Harry says with a smug grin, and Liam ruffles his hair before answering. His heart beats that much bigger that sometimes he wonders if there's room for anything but the love he has for this family of his. For this Harry who holds his heart.

"Bloody idiot you mean. Who had to bring your inhaler out when you couldn't breathe to even open the door?"

Harry elbows Liam in the hip and grabs at Liam's hand, rubbing his thumb over where Liam has Harry's initials tattooed in a loop with his own around his ring finger. Harry has the twin echoed on his own left hand. They're not married, but it's enough of a commitment for them. For now.

"Your idiot, though," he says with a contented sigh. 

Liam can't help but agree.

 

THE END.

 

 

REALLY.

 

(unless you want outtakes of some sort)  
((i could be persuaded))  
(((MAYBE)))


End file.
